Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. She heard them diving after her, and noted their starting eyes as they spied the opened panel. She had trouble outwitting him as he seemed to predict her words before he said them. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. ’ ‘In a somewhat roundabout fashion, if you ask me,’ came in a mutter from her old nurse, very much in her usual style.
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