But, it can't be helped. "I have no sympathy," replied Prudence, "with a man who deliberately fuddles himself with strong drink. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. I want to be a person by myself, and to pull my own strings. Their future would be glorious; he saw it in their eyes; he saw it in the beauty of their young heads. Servants were passing backwards and forwards with tea and chocolate.
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