He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. He did not play golf, but took his exercise on horseback, which was also unsympathetic. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. “I want to be your friend,” he said. In her sitting-room I found Montague Hill. I’m going up to London with the Widgetts to that ball.
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