She grew attached to a pair of twins, a boy named Fritz and a girl named Anna, belonging to an auburn-haired Viennese prostitute named Clotilde. Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. It is not at all comme il faut. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose.
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