She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. She had now the clear and tranquil expression of one whose mind is made up. ’ ‘But I have told you I have not another dagger, even a little one. You had better let me go again.
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