A Poor Wise Man by Mary Roberts Rinehart

By Mary Roberts Rinehart

A vintage novel of romantic fiction and political research.

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The body failed. It sinned, but that did not touch the unassailable purity and simplicity of the soul. The soul, which lived on, was always clean. For that reason there was no hell. Lily rose and buttoned her coat. Grace was fastening her sables, and making a delayed decision in satins. "Mother, I've been thinking it over. " Grace waited until the saleswoman had moved away. " "I was thinking, while we were ordering all that stuff. She is a Cardew, mother. She ought to be having that sort of thing.

But he had little lapses into silence, and Grace Cardew drew her own shrewd conclusions. "He's such a nice boy, Lily," she said, after he had gone. "And your grandfather would like it. " "I want to marry a man, mother. Pink is a boy. He will always be a boy. He doesn't think; he just feels. " All afternoon Lily and Grace shopped. Lily was fitted into shining evening gowns, into bright little afternoon frocks, into Paris wraps. The Cardew name was whispered through the shops, and great piles of exotic things were brought in for Grace's critical eye.

A country boy, the haste of the city impressed him. " he demanded, almost irritably. " "Me? I don't wonder. I know. " "I don't mean houses," he explained, patiently. " "It's the families I'm talking about. " He was laboriously talking down to her. "But here - " He saw that she was not interested. Something he had said started an unpleasant train of thought in her mind. She was walking faster, and frowning slightly. To cheer her he said: "I am keeping an eye out for the large young man in the sack suit, you know.

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