‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology. ’ She shuddered, throwing her hands over her face. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. You represented to us the immaculate Briton, the one Englishman who typified the Saxonism, if I may coin a word, of our race. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable. “My wife refused absolutely to have anything more to do with me.
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