The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. 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. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. "It is easy to make an assertion like this," said Thames, contemptuously.
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