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Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth), 1835-1915

"The Lovels of Arden"

Granger
thought of her baby, and wondered whether the atmosphere of Paris would be
favourable to that rare and beauteous blossom; whether the tops-and-bottoms
of the French capital would agree with his tender digestive machinery,
and if the cowkeepers of the Faubourg St. Honore were an honest and
unadulterating race. The very notion of taking the treasure away from his
own nurseries, his own cow, his own goat-chaise, was enough to make her
shudder.
"It would be the best chance for his redemption. A little womanly kindness
and counsel from you to the wife might bring about a happier state of
things in his home; and a man who can be happy at home is in a measure
saved. It is hardly possible for your brother to mix much with the people
amongst whom I saw him without injury to himself. They are people to whom
dissipation is the very salt of life; people who breakfast at the Moulin
Rouge at three o'clock in the afternoon, and eat ices at midnight to the
music of the cascade in the Bois; people to be seen at every race-meeting;
men who borrow money at seventy-five per cent to pay for opera-boxes and
dinners at the Cafe Riche, and who manage the rest of their existence on
credit."
"But what could my influence do against such friends as these?" asked
Clarissa in a hopeless tone.
"Who can say? It might do wonders. I know your brother has a heart, and
that you have power to touch it.


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