He was dressed with the utmost care, and he set his feet upon the broad walk as though the action were in some way a condescension. It is no good going into that. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. She did not wince. The characters of the youthful occupants of the room might be detected in every article it contained. ‘Is it worth it?’ he asked at last. "Well, Lady Trafford," he said, fixing a severe look upon her. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. " She wanted to dance. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd.
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