"As long as I live, I'll never forget that dress of hers," Prudence declared. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. He had heard everything. ’ ‘Poor sort of a mother,’ Martha said with bitterness. How Jack Sheppard attended his Mother's Funeral 435 XXVII.
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