" The spinsters stared at her blankly. She closed her eyes more vividly to recall some line which had carried the blot. ‘I’ve finished me report, sir,’ Trodger said aggrievedly. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. Hold the chopper away from you, like this. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. By this time, Jonathan and the vast mob attending him, had come up, and the place was rendered almost as light as day by the links. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged.
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