‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. I told her I was sick today and she told me to get over myself. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better.
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