“So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. Also he had said—laughing in that way with his eyes which made a flutter in her chest— that Prudence will find an Englishman to marry her. Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. Two women entered and sat down at the adjoining table. At the same time he comprehended that she was as pure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did not carry that ridiculous shield called false modesty.
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