“A sex of blacklegging clients. "Impossible!" exclaimed the widow, wildly. His face was wreathed in smiles, his beringed hand was cordially outstretched. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. Luckily, she was bereft of consciousness, and was thus spared the additional misery of witnessing what afterwards befell him. I freely forgive you. The only departure which he made from the fashion of the period, was in respect to the peruke—an article he could never be induced to wear.
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