She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. It was obviously pitched well, hitting her head at a good thirtyfive miles per hour. ‘She is constantly thinking of you,’ I said. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot.
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