“Heaven knows!” said Mr. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. “Is this hansom for me?” she said. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. " "But you are educated!"—astonished. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. Always as black and bitter as gall. \"I'll have to call and tell Cathy. And so Winifred understood him.
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