What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. They sat down at the dining room table which seemed empty and 259 huge in the stark, white-walled room.
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