You've your own reasons, no doubt, for bringing up her son —perhaps, I ought rather to say your son, Mr. Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. As a net result she had come to think of all married people much as one thinks of insects that have lost their wings, and of her sisters as new hatched creatures who had scarcely for a moment had wings. “I have made over seven hundred pounds in the last week,” he said. Gerald’s voice came back to her, saying that she could not hope to outwit “a man who means business”. She can be of use to me yet. If only for the sake of her argument with her home, she wanted success. This path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile. He had hurt her.
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