” She wondered how much history she could reinvent before losing track of her own lies. It is a most wonderful piece of good fortune, as I suppose you will be prepared to admit. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. She knew, too, she must not hesitate. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. We’re partly human beings and partly females in suspense. She was a little paler than when she had come to London, a little paler and a little thinner.
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