Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. Heaven forbid. Every man in her life had betrayed her one way or another. “Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. He was only a younger son, and you know what trouble we had. Was there no echo anywhere in Miss Stanley’s pacified brain? Those empty rooms, if they were empty, were the equivalents of astoundingly decorated predecessors.
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