She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. It is dull—deadly dull. There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket.
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