There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. "In wine there is truth. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. His salary was a few paltry hundreds a year. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will.
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