Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. . He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. The colouring was green and white, with softly shaded electric lights, an alcove bedstead, which was a miracle of daintiness, white furniture, and a long low dressing-table littered all over with a multitude of daintily fashioned toilet appliances. Were such a thing to happen again, I'd never let Mr.
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