The lantern was on the ground inside, ready. ” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. "There's another instance of your wilfulness and want of taste. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical.
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