See paragraph 1. One point was that she was to wear fancy dress in the likeness of a Corsair’s bride, and the other was that she was to spend whatever vestiges of the night remained after the dance was over in London with the Widgett girls and a select party in “quite a decent little hotel” near Fitzroy Square. Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor. It was partly to pay a grudge he had against father. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. "Why, so it is," she said, in mock astonishment. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping.
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