“I wonder how it is,” she exclaimed, “that my friends have so much more confidence in me than I have in myself. “What the devil do you mean by coming for me like that?” Ennison exclaimed, glowering down upon him. “Much better. But I want to know whether in such an event you would stand by me?” She held out her hand. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise.
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