To his relief, Mrs Sindlesham stepped into the breach, grasping her cane and rising painfully from her chair. “They were sent to me by Mr. ‘Odd sort of a nun. It is as if my lips had been sealed about them. "Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. You don’t know what you’re saying, and I hope you never will.
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