The wine bubbled and seethed; and the exquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. . Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly. Whenever you grow impatient with her, remember the folly of her father. It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the archway. “Nothing can cheer me,” he said, “except champagne. He is coming here to tea.
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