Paris, 18. Austin was dismissing a host of inquirers who had been attracted thither by the news,—for it had already been extensively noised abroad. I was forced to lay on a bed of nails for three days. Before it is too late. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. “Don’t!” she begged.
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