Montague Hill was taken for the millionaire once or twice, and I suppose it flattered his vanity. Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. She had been forced to buy herself that pair of boots and a walking-skirt, and the pearl necklace at the pawnbrokers’ had yielded very disappointingly. It's infernally provoking. "What weight are these irons?" asked Jonathan, coolly addressing one of the partners. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees.
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