He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and read the agreement through to her. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. The woollen-draper looked at his watch. “I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. This is part of a dream— some evil fancy.
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