. ” 209 Clotilde was no fool. “Admirably, thank you,” Anna answered. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. ” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot.
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