The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. As the woollendraper's back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses. “I wonder,” she said, “how much you care. ‘I’m determined to find out all about you, mademoiselle. And his scarlet coat had nothing to do with it, as Hilary was fond of recounting, for he had been in civilian clothes when they met, as he was tonight. .
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