She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion. Still, one never could tell. She held it by the neck and broke the end of the bottle on the hard dirt. It was scarcely likely that she would have accepted his aid. "Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper.
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