The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. “There’s the classes,” said Constance, the well-informed. “It spreads like wildfire. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though.
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