” “But I can’t do that. . It’s not a bit of good pretending there’s any Higher Truth or wonderful principle in this business. The stranger concluded he could not be far from his destination, and a turn in the road showed him the house. She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. Folks don’t like ’em. Finally she fell into reflection. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. It is really amusing. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring.
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