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They stood back together and stared at it. He whispered in her ear. The Morning Post was hungry for governesses and nursery governesses, but held out no other hopes; the Daily Telegraph that morning seemed eager only for skirt hands. I'm not particular what or where. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire.
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