She taught me how to crochet and cross stitch. He had just arrived from Manchester, whence he had been summoned by that treacherous thief-taker. “Listen,” she said. The important secret remained locked in my breast, but I resolved to be avenged. She was dressed in one of those complicated dresses that are all lace and work and confused patternings of black and purple and cream about the body, and she was in many ways a younger feminine version of the same theme as himself. This way, my dear—and— you’ll excuse my mentioning it, but a quiet blouse and a little chiffon, you know, will be quite sufficient.
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