She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion. The boat was set free, and the men resumed their seats. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. "I love her already. " At this moment, Saint Sepulchre's clock struck six.
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