He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. She wrote it down. I hope—I am sure that he did not see me. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. Missy looked like a troll with lipstick on. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. ‘I have an excellent excuse to remain comfortably ensconced in my parlour here, able to indulge in my favourite pastime.
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