“I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. "He does seem a very extraordinary person. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. You are—horrible. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie.
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