And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean. “But your sister?” he asked. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. She let her mind run into dreams of that cloud paradise of an altered world in which the Goopes and Minivers, the Fabians and reforming people believed.
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