Sir John waved her back. "To me?" gasped Winifred. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. “You’ll do no such thing, Sheila. Die game. "Put down your burthen, monster!" shouted Wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls.
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