“My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. “I have heard these things from you before, and you have had my answer. It was the last thing she felt like drinking. Two children, who had been caught in the jam-closet: ingratiating smiles, back of which lay doubt and fear. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set.
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