There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning. 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. “They’d better not,” said Hetty. Does that boy live in some sort of personal cave? Like, I think he might even be thinking about asking you out again! That is what I think. A nod was exchanged.
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