’ Shock ripped through Charvill’s chest. Had to. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. She felt pride sashay into her thoughts. These dinners, from their lavish display of ambiguous hors d’oeuvre to their skimpy ices in dishes of frilled paper, with their Chianti flasks and Parmesan dishes and their polyglot waiters and polyglot clientele, were very funny and bright; and she really liked Ramage, and valued his help and advice. "It's like enough, I dare say," rejoined Sheppard. ’ ‘Of course she could not have known to whom they belonged. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination.
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