" At this juncture, the door opened, and Thames entered the room. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. ” “I wonder how he treated Gwen. ‘I do not know him. . He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. But he's witty and amusing, and when reasonably drunk he can play the piano like a Paderewski. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. “I wonder what you could do?” he said.
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