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My poor son despairs of me, for I have primed every member of the family to bring me the latest novels whenever they choose to visit. On the Day he had trumpet-like outbreaks of cordiality, varied by a watchful preoccupation. I have fulfilled my part of our marriage contract. And talking of every conceivable thing. “Women are mocked,” she said. She declined and finished with a few of her favorite excerpts from Scheherazade. And the woollen-draper departed. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. Wild had escaped. Jonathan shook his head. It hardly served his interests.
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