When she was quite sure that he was gone she took her sister’s note from the mantelpiece and slowly broke the seal. “Are these ordinary sapphires?” she said. Jove, he didn’t take to it kindly, I can tell you. On Monday Charvill had still not returned, and the major duly presented himself at Mrs Chalkney’s house in Grosvenor Square, thanking his stars that his friend Roding would not be there to spoil sport. Her knees shook, her breath came fast, she almost felt the lurid effect of those tiny patches of rouge upon her pallor-stricken cheeks. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean.
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