Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. You shall have your reward. She still kicked herself for it. Anna sent her away. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. The barmaids had too strongly appealed to his sense of novelty. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. I am not a madman, or a pauper, or even an unreasonable person.
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