’ ‘Of course I am, imbecile,’ she snapped, unconsciously echoing her greatniece. She saw a pole-chair; that would be this Mr. It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. ‘I believe that. . What's the idea of the black border?" "My father recently died, sir.
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