“You poor little girl!” he cried. . Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. “Life—things—I don’t think her prospects now—Hopeful outlook. My poor son despairs of me, for I have primed every member of the family to bring me the latest novels whenever they choose to visit. Wood, at Dollis Hill —" "Let me have one," said a carpenter, who was passing by at the moment,—"Mr.
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