Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. He followed. ‘You imbecile. "You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. He had no use for Ann Veronica; he had never had a use for her since she had been too old to sit upon his knee. “I can’t imagine what has come over you,” said her aunt. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ protested Hilary angrily. Get nothing out of me. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. Lord bless you marm! we sees plenty on 'em in our purfession.
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