He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. Kneebone, he took his departure. They tried to read illustrated papers in an unconcerned manner and with forced attention, lest they should catch the leaping exultation in each other’s eyes. They would be partners only in loneliness. The expression pervading the countenance of the one was vulgarity; of the other, that which is rarely found, except in persons of high birth.
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