She could not go to him with a preachment against strong drink; she knew from experience that such a plan would be wasted effort. In a momentary fury she seized and tore in pieces the study which remained upon the easel. Wood. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. “You knew it,” he added, in her momentary silence. She had set out to get a beautiful life, a free, untrammelled life, self-development, without counting the cost either for herself or others. ‘Wait for me.
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