He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. “He dissembles,” he said. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. ” “An appetite like yours,” he said resignedly, “is fatal to all sentiment. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. ” Anna looked at her steadily.
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