“Life is upsetting enough, without the novels taking a share,” said Mr. “Oh, Veronica!” she said, “to leave your home!” She had been weeping. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. “I will make of the days and weeks one long morning, but remember the afternoon must come. His eyes were fixed upon her face, but he opened his lips twice before he spoke. Do you understand?’ ‘Aye, sir.
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