He lives in constant dread of a reappearance of ‘La Belle Alcide,’ and hearing it said that she is his wife’s sister. I'll knock off at tea. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. “He fell over at my feet,” she continued. “She’s all right. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. Besides, this is an affair which no one but myself can settle.
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