She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight. “Heavens!” she exclaimed. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. My Dad doesn’t want it necessarily, but he realizes that if he doesn’t give my 185 Mom this one it’s divorce for sure. A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. ’ ‘And your precious vicomte didn’t wish for the English one,’ said Charvill, acid in his voice.
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