Stanley in her illness that her husband consented to receive Mr. ‘That was one of my own clever stories. ” She said, ignoring the absurdity of her own statement. ‘Because I love you. He doesn't resemble you at all. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes.
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