Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. She didn’t like the shops, she didn’t like the other women’s faces; she thought the smirking men in frock-coats who dominated these establishments the most intolerable persons she had ever had to face. I’m starving. “I don’t think you see,” she replied, with tears on her cheeks, and her brows knitting, “how it shames and, ah!—disgraces me—AH TISHU!” She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table. Not a word was uttered by the assemblage; but a hush of expectation reigned throughout. I'm sorry.
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