The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. It seemed an emblem of the ruin he had caused. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. ” She laughed. “And for me it has been Pride and Pride and Pride! “I am the prodigal daughter. I do not understand why you and your sister should not see more of one another. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets.
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