Servants were passing backwards and forwards with tea and chocolate. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian. It tore her apart. At the door to the kitchen, he called out, ‘Pottiswick!’ The old man came out, shoving his chin in the air and glaring. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous.
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