“I don’t believe there is one. The rich, heavy food sat in her stomach like so many soft pebbles. Spurling, you're a witness to the bet. And, if I'd my own way, I'd drown 'em all like a litter o' puppies. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. I want to know what you are doing; how you think this work of yours really does serve women.
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