An uncomfortable silence followed. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. ‘What’s more,’ went on Martha, ‘I knew something Mr Charvill didn’t, or he wouldn’t so readily have left it behind him. For the past four weeks mirrors had been her delight, a new toy. Still, they bob up occasionally. .
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