‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. She leaves me almost without comparisons. Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds. “I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her.
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