” “Your knowledge of our ways,” he murmured “is profound. Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. " "My coat, please. “I wish. I did not have to dig deep in my imagination to create the status-obsessed suburban environment of Lucy’s modern milieu.
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