Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. ‘Oh, you may come to me on any mission you like,’ uttered Mrs Sindlesham roguishly. . ‘Yes, for there were too many females for the vicomte to make me a dowry. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. Jonathan had not deceived him. He was still flashily dressed, with much obvious jewellery and the shiniest of patent boots, but his general bearing and appearance had altered for the worse.
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