” He appeared to be paralyzed by abstruse acoustic calculations. “I had lunch very late to-day, and I did not get home in time for dinner. Earles,” she exclaimed. "To be sure he has!" returned Mrs. Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. It wasn’t.
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