Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. They don’t catch on to discursive interests, you see, because they are more serious, they are concentrated on the central reality of life, and a little impatient of its—its outer aspects. Sheppard!" sighed Winifred, as she contemplated the beautiful wreck before her,—"Poor Mrs. Charity for the ragtag and the bobtail of the Seven Seas, and none for his own flesh and blood. But he could only utter an inarticulate exclamation. “Well, I don’t think you told him as much as that, did you?” Lady Lescelles asked. Stars appeared in the periphery of her vision.
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