It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom. Can you imagine how dreadful it must be for them? Most of them arrive here almost penniless. I am dreadfully sad. . They stank, and she hated how they blocked the sunlight. I go back about once a year. I fancy that Sir John does not approve of me. We will find some way out of it.
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