For a long time she surveyed a row of towering holly-hocks, as though they offered an explanation. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. B. She shook her head. E. Jonathan, however, still lingered. He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. ‘Left to yourself, my girl, you may not have any affairs.
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