” Anna promptly alighted with the letter in her hand. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. Then she was turning, ignoring the muttered cursing and the rattling that immediately ensued at the door.
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