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"He has been married a whole fortnight and never deigned to tell his own mother of it until now," says Lady Rodney, hysterically. "It was very unkind," says Mona; "and he has a hateful face." "I will, darlin', shurely," says Bridget, who adores the ground she walks on; and then, turning, she leaves her. Mona lays her hand on Geoffrey's arm..

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"I regret that I met them," says Mona, who will not say she regrets she told the truth. Her tone is only too significant. His face has grown black again. A heavy frown sits on his brow. "Very pretty indeed, and quite good taste and that. She's a Mrs. Lennox, and her husband is our master of the hounds. She is always quite correct in the matter of clothes." There is an awful reservation in her Grace's tone, which is quite lost upon Mona. "But she is by no means little in her own opinion, and in fact rather prides herself upon her—er—form generally," concludes the duchess, so far at a loss for a word as to be obliged to fall back upon slang. 'As I am a Christian faithful man.