“Perhaps. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. Without a word, the general reached out and took them, but his glance searched the girl’s face. Drummond was telling me about the way old Ferringhall rounded upon them all at the club. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. Good-bye, aunt. It was the only way to make the monthly bills. But it would be too risky.
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