He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. "I beg your pardon!… A bit rocky this morning…. ‘You knew her well, Miss Mary?’ Mrs Ibstock turned at the window.
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