She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. “Who did you live with before the Becks? I hear things. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. It was shameful, but again, her mother had prepared her for it. She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. Oh the back of her arm she found the faintest down of hair in the world.
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