They seem to spend their time yawning and inspecting their neighbour’s dresses through those hateful glasses. "Come Bess,—no whimpering. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. It’s Providence. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. Give way, and let us render what assistance we can to the poor wretch. “Exceptionally so. Manning?” she asked.
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