“Think of the mockery!” she said. ’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean. He tugged at the overly large hooded sweatshirt, which she unzipped and let fall to the ground.
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