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. She is like some character out of Phra the Phoenician: she's been buried for thirty years and just been excavated. ‘Here we go again. and Mrs. Place a pistol at my ear, and shoot me, if I've told you false. Afterward goes on to Oxford. ” Lucy replied.
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