She remained standing stiffly, unable even to move. They had asked her to come to the first of the two great annual Fadden Dances, the October one, and Ann Veronica had accepted with enthusiasm. The air was crisp and dry. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. Whitefriars had lost its privileges; Salisbury Court and the Savoy no longer offered places of refuge to the debtor; and it was, therefore, doubly requisite that the Island of Bermuda (as the Mint was termed by its occupants) should uphold its rights, as long as it was able to do so. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope.
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