There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. “Her ladyship dined at home,” the man answered. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him. She addressed her letters, meditated on them for a time, and then took them out and posted them. That is why I am glad that she has gone to London.
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