He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. One called her very distinctly “My dear!” Two secretarial posts did indeed seem to offer themselves in which, at least, there was no specific exclusion of womanhood; one was under a Radical Member of Parliament, and the other under a Harley Street doctor, and both men declined her proffered services with the utmost civility and admiration and terror. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. His face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion. Much too young for you.
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