Beneath the shelf, containing these books, hung the fine old ballad of 'St. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. My uterus and my ovaries are gone.
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