They were properly brought up, and sat still and straight, and took the luck fate brought them as gentlewomen should. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. He seemed to be labouring under some great excitement. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. He sent me flowers.
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