Still he had a decent look, and decidedly the air of one well-to-do in the world. Swinging her arm in an arc, she let go of the foil and it flew across the chapel towards the main door, crashing down between the pews, and clattering onto the floor. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. Gerald perhaps would know how to find him. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times.
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