Her shoulders began to ache. " The Gate, which crossed Newgate Street, had a wide arch for carriages, and a postern, on the north side, for footpassengers. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. He still watched her and questioned her. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. " "Your husband?" "No. Dinner was served at 5:30. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. "Tell me that, and I will believe you. Annabel seated herself in an easy chair and determined to wait for her sister’s return. Bête, she told herself fiercely. Wood," she continued, in an authoritative tone, seeing her husband ready to depart, "one word before you set out.
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