Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. There is only Gerald to see me, after all.
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