I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. She was noisy and hilarious and enthusiastic, and her hair was always abominably done. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. Many’s the bullets I’ve dug out of fellows in my time. Her family had hosted a feast in his honor for which they had taken weeks to prepare: with braised capons and lobster sausages and all sorts of delicious spiced stews her mother had made from secret recipes.
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