“What a little brick!” he murmured. 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. She had changed into dungarees herself and kept her hair as it was. It hit her just above the knee. I don't believe he is much past forty. ” She laid her hand softly upon his.
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