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Nobody could have guessed from that serene demeanour that her self-satisfaction was marred by any untoward detail whatever. Yet it was. All her frocks were designed to conceal a serious defect which seriously disturbed her: she was low-breasted. G.J. said bluntly: "May I present Mr. Molder? Lady Queenie Paulle." And he said to himself, secretly annoyed: "Dash the infernal chit.
Well, it's startling to see you at a picture-show, anyhow." The Major, saluting Lady Queenie as a distant acquaintance, retorted: "Morally, you owe me a guinea, my dear G.J. I called at the flat, and the young woman there told me you'd surely be here." While they were talking G.J. could hear Queenie Paulle and Molder: "Where are you back from?" "Suvla, Lady Queenie."
The happy idea was G.J.'s own, and Lady Queenie Paulle and her mother had taken the right influential measures to ensure its grandiose execution. A queen had visited the private view for half an hour.
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