” Her reverie broke, and she found herself still in front of the looking glass, a barrette hanging loosely from her hair. "What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. " "Well, so long as he gets on his feet in the end.
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