‘You said?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham, your great-aunt, miss. ‘And this is not all,’ went on the lady, evidently determined to disclose all her wrongs. It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. ‘Do not look at me so,’ he snapped. Entering London, he bent his way towards the west-end; and having some knowledge of a secondhand tailor's shop in Rupert Street, proceeded thither, and looked out a handsome suit of mourning, with a sword, cloak, and hat, and demanded the price. She would take the items with her; bury the items and her bloodstained clothes in one of the many sinkholes in the huge landfill/garbage dump on the south side of town. She could not bear the shame of it. “You ARE a female thing at bottom,” he admitted.
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