She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. "I've waited supper, you perceive. “But that’s quite different,” replied Anna. “I will send you a copy,” Mr. . It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. And, if ever I'm brought to the gallows, I shall lay my death at her door. Spurling.
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