Stanley professed a great solicitude to warm his hands. He said that his life was boring and stupid without her. She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire. Why, that boy could hide for thirty years—without the girl. She had decided that she would spend the next morning answering advertisements in the papers that abounded in the writing-room; and so, after half an hour’s perusal of back numbers of the Sketch in the drawingroom, she had gone to bed.
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