‘Madame, I trust I see you well?’ ‘Merci. You won't have him long. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. Before that came your father didn’t even know you were gone. ’ ‘Where then is your uniform?’ ‘I don’t wear it to balls. .
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