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I am often reminded of the days when I was a girl named Kate, a proper English lass of the old sort
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Maud Harrington noticed that Arthur had dressed in his very best shirt the same creamcoloured one they
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In my darkest hour, I agreed to marry the bedridden heir of a wealthy family. Within a month, I began
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Divorcing at the age of sixty-eight was neither a romantic gesture nor a midlife crisis. It was an admission








