“Miserable bounder,” he murmured. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars. How you dress when you're loafing will be no concern of mine; but fresh twill or Shantung, when you dine with me, collar and tie. Think if your own mother was alive!” He paused, deeply moved. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. Here she walked more slowly, looking constantly at the notices in the shop windows. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. Still he had a decent look, and decidedly the air of one well-to-do in the world. Stanley, and was so evidently pleased that Ann Veronica’s heart smote her. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her.
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