Sheila was a stout woman, her bosoms huge, her face 110 wide and square. Lost me place, that’s all. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less. ’ ‘But me, I am not very good with accepting,’ Melusine said bitterly over her shoulder. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. Mr. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers.
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