And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. He stopped before her suddenly. She and I were very close. Have you ever tried to run and jump in petticoats, Mr. Sister’s got married to that bounder Ferringhall. “I’ve never been prone to them.
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