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. The man was my husband. They sat in the front row. Her mouth was worthy of her face; with small, pearly-white teeth; lips glossy, rosy, and pouting; and the sweetest smile imaginable, playing constantly about them. "Yes, Auntie! And to date you have cost me precisely sixteen thousand dollars— hard earned, every one of them. And my wife won’t live with me for reasons that I think most women would consider sound.
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