Nothing to do; nothing for the hands, the mind, the heart. ‘Very well, mademoiselle, so be it,’ he snapped. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. Such of his features as were visible were of coarse mould.
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