“Nothing was ever done,” Miss Brett asserted, “without a certain element of Faith. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream. Both, perhaps?’ At that, her eyes darkened with fury. A sense of impending disaster was upon him. I have done n-nothing. The next hour makes, or mars you for ever. He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. Not that there had ever been any hope of that. ’ Total bullshit, if you ask me.
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