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Updated: June 5, 2025
"MY novel ?" faltered he. "Your novel," she repeated, smiling sweetly, and mimicking his tone. Then she made a little moue. "Of course, I have known that you were your friend Felix Wildmay, from the outset." "Oh," said Peter, in a feeble sort of gasp, looking bewildered. "You have known that from the outset?" And his brain seemed to reel. "Yes," said she, "of course.
"I'm vastly your debtor for the information it will stand me in stead with the next author who comes my way. But, in that case, your friend Mr. Felix Wildmay will be, as it were, a sort of Manx cat?" was her smiling deduction. "Yes, if you like, in that particular, a sort of Manx cat," acquiesced Peter, with a laugh. The Duchessa laughed too; and then there was a little pause.
Or is Pauline, for all her convincingness, a pure creature of imagination?" "Ah," said Peter, laughing, "you touch the secret springs of my friend's inspiration. That is a story in itself. Felix Wildmay is a perfectly commonplace Englishman. How could a woman like Pauline be the creature of his imagination? No she was a 'thing seen. God made her. Wildmay was a mere copyist.
She was a frightful swell, for one thing." "A frightful swell ?" The Duchessa raised her eyebrows. "Yes," said Peter, "at a vertiginous height above him horribly 'aloft and lone' in the social hierarchy." He tried to smile. "What could that matter?" the Duchessa objected simply. "Mr. Wildmay is a gentleman." "How do you know he is?" Peter asked, thinking to create a diversion. "Of course, he is.
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