“My wife refused absolutely to have anything more to do with me. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. ‘She’s wearing a lightskirt’s clothing?’ ‘Nothing obviously so, I assure you. ‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. Good-bye, aunt. . I heard rumours of it in Paris, and the place since then has been closed. I’m sorry. “My Mom was a good lady. There's my thumb upon it.
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