" "Where's Mr. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. He's neighbourly; he has a jingle for every ache and joy I've had.
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