She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. A farthing candle, stuck in a bottle neck, shed its feeble light upon the table, which, owing to the provident kindness of Mr. And as she was yet waiting for her tea to come she saw this man again. “I’m not a good woman. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. I'll call for you after lunch.
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