Anyhow, it were me as got you down to the wetnurse. He suspected a trap. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. He regretted now that in his idle hours he hadn't hunted up one against the rainy day. "Tom! Hey, Tom!" The Chinese cook thrust his head into the dining room. This became very interesting. And Gosse had been still there, so Martha said, and not in prison.
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