The discussion wandered, and was punctuated with bread and butter. It was an impulse. “My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. Nothing is wrong that you do. Knew something was up. Not only that, but he carried himself erect— the slight slouch which had bent his shoulders had altogether disappeared. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother.
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