His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. We close the chapter. She is a fortune-teller and a vessel for man’s pleasure. All the same, I don’t admit it. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. ” She shook her head. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. He was still flashily dressed, with much obvious jewellery and the shiniest of patent boots, but his general bearing and appearance had altered for the worse.
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