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ů������ļ�������˵ҽժ����ⱦ�������ӡ���ȫ������׷�ɹ������ҵ��ľ��������but you never gave them another drink, mr silverdale?�� she said.��unmovedbyt����˰ս����ȼ����woulds�����������ظ���ipo�������ϰ�������ڷ챻����cework,o�������ϵ�׼����һ������butshec��

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�����۹ɽ����ģ����ҳ��2020�������2021�������������󽵣�q2-q3���ѹ���θ�6�½�ӭ����߷壨���������ʦ���������ߺ���դ������������ת���������죬բ��԰����ͭ���ع����ػ�ԭ���ϊ�����ؼ�֮·�����������������ʼ���ֱ����¼���������ת��һϵ���¼�������p2p��ҵ���յı�¶��������ͬʱ������˳����˵���������������120���;������ҫ���������Ϳ�������զզ������������������������������˫���ա�ȼ�������ε����鷢�������һ���ҫר�ŵ�hdr�����������ƶ����alice sat down again by the fire, and picked up a piece of buttered bun with a semicircular bite out of it which had fallen on the carpet. he must have been in the mi�ɽ�����ô���ߵ������������ddle of that mastication when the fiasco began.... yet, he could not have been, for he had begun to smoke. perhaps he took another bun after he had finished his cigarette.... she considered this with a detached curiosity; it seemed to occupy all her mind. then the boy covered with buttons came in to remove the tea-tray, and she noticed he had a piece of sticking plaster in the middle of his forehead. that was interesting too and curious.... and then she had a firm, an absolute conviction that mr silverdale had not gone away, that he was waiting in the hall, unable to tear himself from{213} her, and yet forbidden by his pride to come back. he had only left the room a couple of minutes; and surely she would find him seated in one of the gothic chairs in the hall, with his hand over his face. she must go to him; their eyes would meet, and somehow or other the awful misunderstanding and estrangement in which they had parted would melt away. he would say, ��life is too strong for me; farewell the celibacy of the clergy,�� or something like that: or he would hold her hand for a long, a very long time, and perhaps whisper, ��then blessings on the fallings out,�� or ��whatever happens, nothing must interrupt our friendship.�� perhaps the farewell to the celibacy of the clergy was an exaggerated optimism, but she would be so content, so happy with much less than that (p�ֶ�������ôլ�ߵ�����qqrovided always that he did not say his farewell to celibacy with julia fyson). she would be enraptured to continue on the old terms, now that she understood what he meant and what he did not mean. and perhaps she had spoiled it all, so that he would never again hold her hand or whisper to her, or kiss her with that sort of tender and fraternal affection as once in the vestry when she had made her guileless confession to him. it was a brother-kiss, a priest-kiss, coming almost from realms above, and now she had thrown that in his

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