Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter. ’ ‘I know,’ he said, smiling. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. If he wished, he could even take this inheritance from her. He was a philosopher. "This is not the way to obtain it," said Winifred, endeavouring to reach the door. "What is a sing-song girl?" she asked.
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