Vaguely she heard the distinctive sound of male voices as she saw Gosse dive towards the fateful pew. “Life—things—I don’t think her prospects now—Hopeful outlook. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. “They seem smaller, you know, even physically smaller,” she said. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. As he entered the shop, a tall portly personage advanced to meet him, whom he at once recognised as the present proprietor.
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