I hope we may never find her again. But it was her proof. Hastily, he reached for the door. T’weren’t fitting, we knew that. One or the other. “It was,” she admitted. I suppose it depends on her own state of mind. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart.
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