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Her mother had prepared her for everything. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. “A move of any sort would certainly be fatal. Bullding?” “Stout old gentleman four places down on the left. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. She was silent, the ghost of a fading smile passed from her lips. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. Lightheaded, she threw up in the courtyard of the Palazzo as servants crowded her in alarm. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. He had quite enough to see to and worry about in the City without their doing things. Jonathan kept his keen eye fixed upon him, as he addressed himself for a moment to the Hollander. In the second, she was wretchedly poor, and assailed by temptations of which you can form no idea. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city.

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