After the first violent outbreak of grief had in some degree subsided, Thames addressed him. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. He kept at it even on those nights when the monsoon began to break with heavy storms and he had to weight down with stones everything on his table. “I have come from a very unfashionable quarter,” she said, “and I do not think that I have been inside a milliner’s shop for a year.
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