’ ‘Pottiswick, you mean, miss?’ ‘Yes, yes. Voilà tout. At length, at the end of a passage, next to the cell where Mrs. . You fell in at once with her quixotic and damnable scheme of foisting her reputation and her follies upon your shoulders whilst she marries a rich man and commences all over again a life of selfish pleasure. If she could not marry him, she would not marry any one. He would raise her up once again, ply her with silks and jewels again, all of the accoutrements of the new generation: the cars, the toys, the restaurants, and the prestige.
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