‘Do not think—’ he panted, ‘that I am finished—with you, mademoiselle. ‘—without telling her why,’ he finished, ignoring the interjection. Daughters were not like sons. The teacher turned towards the blackboard to inscribe the names of Capulet and Montague. But go on. 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. ’ He sighed elaborately.
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