‘It is London’s loss, ma’am. Here I am. ’ ‘It’s immaterial, in any event,’ Roding put in. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. Certainly your major—’ ‘Ah, now that’s just it, missie. Now, I'll be getting along. ‘Aye, miss, like a shadow. Wood, softening her asperity. And how much I owe you, too, dearest Winifred, for your kindness and attention.
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