She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. “Someone must have found it and taken good care of it. ‘I am nine-and-twenty,’ he answered. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk.
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