The affair was thick with sinister suggestions. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. “Oh, yes,” the stranger remarked good-humouredly. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently. ‘That’s better. But she threw a verbal bombshell into the spinsters' camp. I am. There are unwritten laws governing human conduct.
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