“Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. Mr. “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. To his relief, Mrs Sindlesham stepped into the breach, grasping her cane and rising painfully from her chair. At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks. It is useless to talk.
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