The unequal battle went on. “Glaciers?” she said. She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. “I want to find an address. The twenty pounds burned with avidity. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. “I don’t care a rap for remembering.
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