A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. What was the matter with the dress? She could not see. ‘That piece of information seemed to interest him very much. It might be supposed that these articles, when thrust together into the bag, would have jingled; but these skilful practitioners managed matters so well that no noise was made. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image.
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