“Is Miss Stanley coming up with us?” “I go second,” she said, “and change at Wimbledon. Hot coffee and cakes were sent in to them in the morning by some intelligent sympathizer, or she would have starved all day. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. She was a lovely girl, attired in deep mourning, and having an expression of profound sorrow on her charming features.
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