The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. “You propose, then,” she remarked, “that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband. ” “Excuse me,” Mr. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order.
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