’ Hilary’s gaze was raking the room. 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. “I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. " "For mercy's sake, go on!" cried Winifred. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap.
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