Spurling, drily. "Mother—dear mother! Once again, I beseech you to listen to me. “I can’t believe it. ’ ‘So Charvill did tell him,’ Gerald said, once more staring into the hole in the wall. ” They were in the elder Widgett girl’s bedroom; Hetty was laid up, she said, with a sprained ankle, and a miscellaneous party was gossiping away her tedium. “Girls of sixteen do not need their own laundry hampers. . . You’re such a strange girl. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously.
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