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Updated: May 29, 2025
This, alternating with the squeak of a quill pen, went on till the alarum clock once more went off. Then he who stood outside could smell that Mr. Mr. Stone would presently emerge in his cottage-woven tweeds, and old hat of green-black felt; or, if wet, in a long coat of yellow gaberdine, and sou'wester cap of the same material; but always with a little osier fruit-bag in his hand.
Thus equipped, he walked down to Rose and Thorn's, entered, and to the first man he saw handed the osier fruit-bag, some coins, and a little book containing seven leaves, headed "Food: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday," and so forth.
He then stood looking through the pickles in some jar or other at things beyond, with one hand held out, fingers upwards, awaiting the return of his little osier fruit-bag. Feeling presently that it had been restored to him, he would turn and walk out of the shop. Behind his back, on the face of the department, the same protecting smile always rose. Long habit had perfected it.
Stone came in with his osier fruit-bag in his hand. He remained standing, and spoke at once. "Is my daughter happy?" At this unexpected question Hilary walked over to the fireplace. "No," he said at last; "I am afraid she is not." "Why?" Hilary was silent; then, facing the old man, he said: "I think she will be glad, for certain reasons, if I go away for a time." "When are you going?" asked Mr.
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