The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold. She could hear the raucous laughter and bad music below. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. ‘Sapristi,’ he gasped. She had been so young then. "Was I out of my head?" "Yes. He spent the evening telling her stories of Greece as she sat in front of a roaring fire.
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