They will find me dead, yes. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. “For nothing, do you call it?” he declared. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude. She had not thought anything could equal her despair at that moment. They had cried a little, both.
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