’ ‘I’m hanged if I can make out either of you,’ complained Hilary. He is all kindness, and will overlook them for your poor father's sake —for mine. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. Everything was going to hell. “Oh, yes,” the stranger remarked good-humouredly.
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