Mere formality. ‘You see now how dangerous it is to play this lone hand. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Speak lower. She had noticed a twenty year pattern emerging, and funny how opportunity seemed to strike just when she was getting truly anxious. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less.
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