’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. She washed her face with unwonted elaboration before she went to bed. Likely as not outside the law, too. Men of action by the scarlet coats with their grey facings—insignia of the county militia. Then she reverted to the trousers. Recollect that.
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