. "Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. Wood fancied he recognised. Or was that perhaps because his business in Piccadilly the other day had gone awry? Perhaps Brewis Charvill had not welcomed him with open arms. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. Somebody ought to talk to him, warn him. “I do not know what you mean,” he said, “but if you are referring to any little coolness since our marriage let us never speak of it again.
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