But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers. She was quite tired of the stream of visitors and heard with relief the words of her newfound great-aunt, addressed to her son’s butler. ‘Doesn’t she, Gerald?’ Gerald held up his hands. ” “You didn’t. " "Mr. “Not to-night,” she said.
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