“—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. “Your teeth are chattering! I’ll make you some hot chocolate!” Cathy cried. Told you how it would be. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause.
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