She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. “Were you thinking of private apartments, a boarding-house or an hotel?” she asked. Of this I'm certain, however, she was much too good for him, and was never meant to be a journeyman carpenter's wife, still less what is she now. Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck. She walked through the office to the door, aimlessly. My friends consider it wonderfully faithful. You never saw him before yesterday.
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