Her voice was weak and flat. 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. Glad to get back, I’m sure,” he said briskly. “I may go to Hatton House later, but you needn’t wait. He's coming. She intercepted the glance the spinsters exchanged, and immediately sensed that she had said too much.
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