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Reade, Charles, 1814-1884

"A Woman-Hater"

She recognized Zoe directly, with a flush of
pleasure; a sweet, bright expression broke over her face, and she bowed
to her with a respectful cordiality that was captivating.
Zoe yielded to the charm of manner, and bowed and smiled in return,
though, till that moment, she had been knitting her black brows at her in
wonder and vague suspicion.
Ina trifled with the game, at first. Ashmead was still talking to her of
the young swell and his system. He explained it to her, and how it had
failed. "Not but what," said he, "there is a great deal in it most
evenings. But to-day there are no runs; it is all turn and turn about. If
it would rain, now, you would see a change."
"Well," said Ina, "I will bet a few pounds on red, then on black, till
these runs begin."
During the above conversation, of which Zoe caught little, because
Ashmead was the chief speaker, she cast her eyes all round the table and
saw a curious assemblage of figures.
There was a solemn Turk melting his piasters with admirable gravity;
there was the Russian princess; and there was a lady, dressed in loud,
incongruous colors, such as once drew from a horrified modiste the cry,
"Ah, Dieu! quelle immoralite'!" and that's a fact.


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