‘Well, only look what’s come of it. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. ” Her reverie broke, and she found herself still in front of the looking glass, a barrette hanging loosely from her hair. 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. I know less about this affair perhaps than you suppose. Stanley,’ I said.
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