Nobody regards Constance or Vee as a delicate trifle. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. “I don’t see quite what your game is, Vee, but I suppose you’ve got a game on somewhere.
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