The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. Well, I'll take myself off. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. "I can never get poor Tom's last look out of my head, as he stood in the Stone-Hall at Newgate, after his irons had been knocked off, unless I manage to stupify myself somehow. He found the horse where Thames told him he would find him, mounted, and rode off across the fields in the direction of town. Being a Chinaman in blood and instinct, he despised all spinsters; they were parasites.
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