" "Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly. The ruse succeeded almost beyond his expectation. Another car followed, a rusty Cadillac sedan full of kids. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being.
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