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And then, with the usual formula "Now to God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost be praise, honour and glory for ever and ever" the congregation stood up. Lady Beaulyon shook her silken skirts delicately. Mrs. Bludlip Oourtenay put her hand to her back hair coil and made sure that it was safe.
"Luckier than me!" retorted a man next to her "I had to pay a girl's losses to the tune of a hundred. It's all right though!" And he grinned suggestively. "Is she pretty?" "Ripping!" "I want to make up five hundred pounds this week," observed Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay, in the most serious and matter-of-fact way "I've won it all but a hundred and fifty." "Good for you!"
"Woman" said Mr. Bludlip Courtenay, sententiously "is a riddle. Sometimes she wants a vote in elections, then, if it's offered to her, she won't have it. Buy her a pearl, and she says she would rather have had a ruby. Give her a park phaeton, and she declares she has been dying for a closed brougham.
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