At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR. “You are going to treat me as though I wasn’t. Come into the parlour, Winifred, and dry your eyes directly, or I'll send you to bed. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. ' So I go to Patagonia. You mustn't go by what you read so much as by what you see and hear.
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