"You insult me," says Dorothy, growing even whiter than she was before, "when you speak to me of—of——",
He actually laughs, though faintly, and Mona looks up. Perhaps he has forced himself to this vague touch of merriment (that is even sadder than tears) just to please and rouse her from her despondency,—because the laugh dies almost as it is born, and an additional pallor covers his lips in its stead.,
"Just fancy the Æsthetic with a husband, and a baby on her knee.".
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