He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison. Upon my word, Anna,” she declared, with a strange little laugh, “you are a thousand times more like me as I was two months ago than I am myself. 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. "To shoot you would be to lose the reward. Andrew's church, the bell of which was tolling, was covered with spectators.
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