Sheppard, hastily; "is that the name?" "Ay, ay, now I look again it is Trenchard. ‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary. Also, you must send someone to fetch my horse—at least, it is not mine but I have borrowed it to come here—because it will be dark very soon and—’ ‘Woof! Hold it, hold it,’ begged the sergeant. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. “You met no one upon the stairs, or saw no one leave the flats?” “No one,” Anna answered firmly. For the rest, she derived her ideas of the married state from the observed behavior of married women, which impressed her in Morningside Park as being tied and dull and inelastic in comparison with the life of the young, and from a remarkably various reading among books. She had found the mausoleum underneath a broken monument.
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