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But almonds-and-raisins are different; to a certain class of society they represent the embodiment of refinement and luxury and self-indulgence." Sir Wilfred Madderley laughed softly to himself. "I know exactly what you mean."
"It's a queer tale," his son began, "and if I told it to Craig Fenton, or Madderley round in Harley Street I know what they would say. But you will understand. It started this afternoon, when the sun was pouring in through the windows. I had to go to my chambers to change; and the rooms were filled with a most disgusting smell." His father started. "What kind of smell?" he asked. "Not incense?"
"The word though appears redundant in that connection," Sir Wilfred Madderley remarked. "Ah! that's because you aren't what is called 'a lady's man," Lord Robert sighed. "I always was, especially before my unfortunate oh! I beg your pardon, Violet, I forgot you were here; I mean, of course, my fortunate marriage.
"Wiser not, even there," murmured Sir Wilfred Madderley, under his breath. "But you have all interrupted me, and haven't listened to what I was telling you about my intelligent man; and if you eat my food you must listen to my stones it's only fair."
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