“You see, Vee,” said Mrs. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. “Should I leave? Sounds like she is running out of food. 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. He gave her silence in return. She rang again with the same result. Clergymen were human. Brown or Jones, I dare say. We've never caught him cheating at cards; too clever; but we know he cheats.
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