Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. “Even Katy Pfister can’t touch you now. Sepulchre's church, where, in compliance with an old custom, it halted. ” A little murmur of expectation, an audible silence announced the coming of “Alcide. I am far too much the gentleman. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it.
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