” “Please don’t let him know I’m here yet. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. The girl in the forward chair raised herself a little, the better to see the gorgeous blue palanquin of the dimly visible bride. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. By instinct. ” “Please go then, Mr.
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