Mrs Sindlesham raised her brows. Miss Miniver looked out on the world through large emotional blue eyes that were further magnified by the glasses she wore, and her nose was pinched and pink, and her mouth was whimsically petulant. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. Men in this part of the world drink to forget the things they have lost. Presently he heard her voice. And this clear-visioned child had comprehended that only half the rogues were really ill.
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