Doctor Ralph came in to tea and put his arm round Alice and kissed her, and Alice called him “Squiggles,” and stood in the shelter of his arms for a moment with an expression of satisfied proprietorship. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. It took my breath away. Her nurse says she may live some time; but she seems to me to be sinking fast. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. Please to release me. Anyhow, he did not sentimentalize her.
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