What was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her. He seemed like a very intelligent doctor and not at all like a snooty archbishop. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. ‘I am entirely English.
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