A copy of the Illustrated London News had somehow found its way here and was lying on the table next to mine and I reached for it but then changed my mind; it was that newspaper, after all, which had advertised Mr. Dickens´ reading, and had Father not seen it, he would most likely still be with me. I had turned against the paper on account of it.
So now it is the newspapers fault that you and your father have gone out into the pouring rain, him being sick and that YOU forgot your umbrella at home.
Eliza is a moron.
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