Nor had Jack been idle all this time. “Thank God,” he exclaimed. Very slowly, very fearfully, she turned her head. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. “I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her sometimes, still there are differences— differences in social atmospheres. “I know that our social order is dreadful enough,” he said, “and sacrifices all that is best and most beautiful in life.
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