There was a time, long, long ago, when the tears would have rushed to my eyes unbidden at the bare mention of generosity like yours, Mr. txt or 15614-8. Then, as she was in the act of turning reluctantly away, she noticed a thin crack between the door and the frame. He waved to her. She turned towards the door, and had taken a pace towards it when it was flung open. Hurrying on, his progress was soon checked by a strong door, several inches in thickness, and nearly as wide as the passage. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly.
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