" "The ways of Providence are inscrutable," observed Wood. There wasn’t, I know, between myself and my father. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot. And, in applying the term to his friend, Thames meant to pay him a high compliment. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind.
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