Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. They entered a hansom and turned on to the Embankment. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. ’ Martha frowned. He wore a silk hat a little tilted, and a morning coat buttoned round a tight, contained figure; and a white slip gave a finish to his costume and endorsed the quiet distinction of his tie. " "That's impossible," replied Jack. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. There was a moment’s breathless and disappointed silence. It isn't for their sakes, it's for your own. And think things out.
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