“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. Go up and get my daughter so we can have some homemade pie. Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color. When they made love, he seemed to shift into the realm of possessiveness. She had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her sister—was a lady.
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