And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. But one was clearly the goddess among them, her face hidden, her body seeming to call out to me to possess it at once. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. Suppose our proper place is a shrine.
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