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It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. Gosse, if he had any sense, would immediately seek out the Remenham lawyers. Occasionally he relit his pipe. He died in the war. He dined, and then pleaded a political engagement. That might happen on her birthday—in August. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. He had no ideas about daughters. He could only wonder that this amazing thing had remained so long a secret to him. She awoke and found herself home amid a pile of three bodies, one of which she recognized as a former denizen of the household. Before Jonathan followed he turned to face his assailants. “Girls of sixteen do not need their own laundry hampers. “Now, there, there.
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