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There was something fatalistic about the letter H. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. ’ ‘You know, Gerald,’ Lucilla put in thoughtfully, forestalling a withering rejoinder from the captain, ‘there may be something in that. Winifred instantly picked it up. “I admired your sister in Paris,” he answered, “but I do not believe that I regard her now as altogether the same person.
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