She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. She wanted to scream, but there was no one to scream for. "Oh God!" exclaimed Jack, in a tone of the bitterest anguish. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding.
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