. . She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Remain at the door, Nab," he added, loitering for a moment behind the others, "and let no one in, or out. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face.
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