In truth, she would quite like to have him rescue her. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. "Bury her in Willesden churchyard, as she requested, on Sunday," said Jack. All that was needed to complete the simile was that the girl should burst into song.
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