“YOU had to come in. . But I should certainly want to be rid of Mr. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. It was cheating, pitiful cheating. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. With great difficulty, Wood forced a path through the ruins. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. As usual the substantive sister—Prudence—did all the talking for the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods.
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