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” “Where is your husband?” Anna asked. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. D. Nigel, you have not forgotten!” “No,” he said, with a little bitter smile. “You cannot give me ultimatums.
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