If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. ” “And what about this man—Mr. " "Would you like to have me read to you?" He did not answer. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. Annabel entered.
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