She grew attached to a pair of twins, a boy named Fritz and a girl named Anna, belonging to an auburn-haired Viennese prostitute named Clotilde. “You appear,” she said, without any sign of anger in her tone, and with unruffled composure, “to be a very impertinent person. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. "Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. . . “Oh, I am lonely,” she moaned. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. . I didn't understand then, but I do now.
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