Oui, dans la note. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. There’s always friction, conflict, unwilling concessions. Wood; "to be sure you are! I wonder how you dare show your face in this house, hussy!" "I thought you sent for me, Ma'am," replied the widow, humbly.
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