The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. It must be the dawn creeping in. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. “My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. Hill was seated.
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