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Updated: May 7, 2025
Darrell would have answered blithe enough, but the man who had interfered now pushed the other aside, came close to the maid of honor, and spoke with decision. "Gentlemen, this lady had a brother of much promise who sailed upon the Cygnet.... Ah! you perceive that such converse in her presence is not gentle nor seemly." He took Damaris's hand; it was quite cold.
"Sweet lady," he said, in a low voice, "come with me from out this gallimaufry." He bent nearer, so that none but she could hear. "I will tell you all. It fits not with the dignity of your sorrow that you should remain here." Damaris's bosom rose and fell in a long shuddering sigh. The room that was so large and bright swam before her, appeared to grow narrow, dark, and stifling.
Damaris's table was next that of the Thistletons, who, with a vague memory maybe of their duty towards their neighbour as instilled on Sundays into their rebellious infantile heads, chatted brightly to right and to left of them at meals. Full of the milk of human kindness, they allowed it to overflow into their writhing neighbours' jugs.
Afterwards there will be accounting for so vile a falsehood!" Another movement and murmur ran through the group, checked by Damaris's raised hand and burning eyes. "On, sir, on!" Darrell shrugged. "Oh, madam, the loyal Cygnet would have it that that fair cockatrice the galleon was her own!
Giving a final pat to her offsprings' toilettes, Mamma shepherded them downstairs, tapping at Damaris's door as she passed, inviting her to join them in the Winter-Garden, where they were going to sit and look at the dresses, and watch the arrival of the guests from the less select hotels.
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