But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. ‘And you come to me, thinking yourself half French, and expect me to take you in. “Very,” said Mr. “The life of a private secretary is positively one of slavery. Besides, I have my doubts that he is so very sick. “He fancied that he did,” she corrected him coolly.
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