’ ‘What, for not wanting to marry you?’ ‘Imbecile. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. “These are the playgrounds of life. “You’ve interested me enormously.
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