\" She whirled around by instinct, frightening the boy who she had borrowed the pencil from. From beginning to end it was first-hand stuff. Detached, it was not impossible that she would be forced to leave the dining room because of invading tears. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. ‘Martha was my wet-nurse? But she is unmarried.
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