Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. Knew something was up. A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him. . Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. “Just come to that seat now you are here, Miss Stanley, and look down the other path; there’s a vista of just the common sort. ” “I suppose all men,” said Ann Veronica, in a tone of detached criticism, “get some such entanglement. Tell me about your island.
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