“Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. The practice has been common for thousands of years. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. ‘Sapristi,’ he gasped. D'ye hear. Understand me! I forbid it. “I came to London unexpectedly, and my friends could not take me in. There was a pleasant numbness in the bottle; that's why I went to it. I’m not half smart enough for the West End.
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