"Yes, Auntie! And to date you have cost me precisely sixteen thousand dollars— hard earned, every one of them. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. Lost, stolen, or strayed, the Young Person!.
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