The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing. ‘You said?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham, your great-aunt, miss. Haven’t I shown you over and over again that I mean you no harm? What do I have to do?’ ‘You can go away and leave me to my affairs,’ she threw at him.
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