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There were shadows under his eyes. I MUST. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. But women—women as a rule don’t throw themselves into things like that. "Where are you going?" cried Thames, who, though wholly disencumbered, was scarcely able to keep up with him. She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window.
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