” “Why do you think so?” she asked. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. 'Mrs. I’m rather scornful. Worse than any man. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect.
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