“The rarefied air? I thought you had a better head. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. I have plenty of money, and the Duke will not be in the next Cabinet. I don’t know if I express myself clearly. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. Hips tended to be the bane of Shari’s existence as she tried diet after diet to get rid of them. I——” Then he stopped short, for he began to remember things. She addressed her letters, meditated on them for a time, and then took them out and posted them.
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