Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. His mother smiled in return, an act that brightened her thin face. He did not speak for a moment. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. "My head fairly turns round.
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