In the whole world she possessed of her own only ninety pounds, saved from year to year, put by carefully pound by pound, out of her dress allowance. Yet the advertisement had been addressed to persons who appreciate these things, so that it had been, anyhow, addressed too to her, for she certainly appreciated them more than anybody knew more than she had ever told. Not for her the shores in April of the Mediterranean, and the wistaria and sunshine. Not for her were mediaeval castles, even those that are specially described as small. So entirely unaware was Mrs Wilkins that her April for that year had then and there been settled for her that she dropped the newspaper with a gesture that was both irritated and resigned, and went over to the window and stared drearily out at the dripping street. That was its conception yet, as in the case of many another, the conceiver was unaware of it at the moment. Small mediaeval Italian Castle on the shores of the Mediterranean to be let Furnished for the month of April. To Those who Appreciate Wistaria and Sunshine. It began in a woman’s club in London on a February afternoon – an uncomfortable club, and a miserable afternoon – when Mrs Wilkins, who had come down from Hampstead to shop and had lunched at her club, took up The Times from the table in the smoking-room, and running her listless eye down the Agony Column saw this:
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