"When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. Fas du tout. Almost worthy of your own fertile imagination. . The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. She’s got a great imagination. That's one of the troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously. "Oh God!" exclaimed Jack, in a tone of the bitterest anguish.
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