Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. That’s— that’s my private life. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. "My child!" he groaned faintly. " The woollen-draper replied by gallantly handing her the box, which was instantly snatched from her by Blueskin, who, after helping himself to as much of its contents as he could conveniently squeeze between his thumb and finger, put it very coolly in his pocket.
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