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THE AGE OF INNOCENCE
"Ah," the Marchioness murmured, without visible resentment. For a while she sat in her arm-chair, opening and shutting the absurd ivory fan between her mittened fingers; but suddenly she lifted her head and listened.
"Here she comes," she said in a rapid whisper; and then, pointing to the bouquet on the sofa: "Am I to understand that you prefer that, Mr. Archer? After all, marriage is marriage . . . and my niece is still a wife. . . ."
