She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. It shall be the bludgeon. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. The ball passed over his head, and lodged in the ceiling. A wife formed part of his scheme of life, for several years he had been secretly but assiduously looking for her. But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede.
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