I'm no mollycoddle. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. She almost laughed, but repressed her smile lest it seem cruel. As though accidentally she swept her skirts from a chair close drawn to her own.
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