She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. In her sitting-room I found Montague Hill. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. Capes. I wanted to have something to give up.
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