” They were in the elder Widgett girl’s bedroom; Hetty was laid up, she said, with a sprained ankle, and a miscellaneous party was gossiping away her tedium. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. And here you are!” Her aunt opened all the fingers of her gloved hand in a rhetorical gesture.
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