So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. Occasionally he would lean back and stare at the window which gave upon the sea. "Why did I want it under my pillow?" he asked. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape.
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