“You look more like your old self when you smile,” he remarked. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Marry, come up! I've been a great deal too charitable. She can be of use to me yet. I’m sorry. Voilà tout. It was cramped even at the end of the passage. One doesn’t want to lose a grain.
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