She wanted to live. As a man, Sebastian had always held enough power to live in luxury. ‘It is not your affair. She pulled her chair with a mild creak and marched towards the stair. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. At the bottom of the trunk was a large manila envelope, unmarked.
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