It was as if her aesthetic sense had become inflamed. He took her hands firmly in his and raised them to his lips. ‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. The world had grown dark and wide, and she was very small. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her.
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