“The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. There's my thumb upon it. Do not mistake me. He’s got flowers. All her protests seemed stifled before she could find words to utter them. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. “Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us. Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression. ‘To where has he gone off?’ ‘No use asking me,’ shrugged the captain.
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