There was a gulf of eight years between her and the youngest of her brace of sisters—an impassable gulf inhabited chaotically by two noisy brothers. “John,” she said, “I can spare you that question. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. "'You've a long journey before you. I’ve got no feminine class feeling. From her stomacher, to which it was attached by a multitude of glittering steel chains, depended an immense turnip-shaped watch, in a pinchbeck case. We’ve done nothing to deserve it. "Besides, lad, even an advertisement of a cough-drop is something to read.
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