The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Wood at Dollis Hill, was assaulted and half-killed by a party of ruffians, headed, he swore, by Mr. Figg, the noted prize-fighter, from the New Amphitheatre in Marylebone Fields. ‘Think I’m fool enough to do my business in a convent?’ he said scornfully. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. “It is possible, mademoiselle,” he said, “that this affair is not yet ended. “You must tell me the truth, and I will see that no harm comes to you. ’ ‘Voracious. And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed.
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