6. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. But that, and that sort of thing, is just a day-dream. And what on earth do you want to darken your eyebrows and use so much make-up for at your age? You’re exactly twenty-three, and you’re got up as much as a woman of forty-five. There was nothing to be got out of the man. ” She leaned back amongst the cushions of her chair. And I've already told you the accident was not Jack's fault.
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