“You have killed me. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. Women and men had always flocked to him, covetous of his knowledge, his riches, and if all else failed, his carnal expertise. I can no longer bear to address you by that formal madame. Both husband and wife affected an unnatural ease of manner for the benefit of the efficient parlor-maid, who was putting the finishing touches to the sideboard arrangements.
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