“Someone must have found it and taken good care of it. We close the chapter. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. 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. I don’t care what divides us. "Gracious Heavens! this is more wonderful than all the rest," cried the carpenter, rubbing his eyes. ” She stopped.
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