Aunt and niece regarded each other silently. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. . Give me your hand. With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley.
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