Part 2 The next morning was as dark and foggy as if it was mid-November instead of early March. The path he had selected conducted him to his mother's humble dwelling. ’ Roding looked struck. E. A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely. Her family had hosted a feast in his honor for which they had taken weeks to prepare: with braised capons and lobster sausages and all sorts of delicious spiced stews her mother had made from secret recipes. The Morning Post was hungry for governesses and nursery governesses, but held out no other hopes; the Daily Telegraph that morning seemed eager only for skirt hands.
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