“You did not tell me that you were going out, or I would have offered my escort. Are you prepared to do it?” Her hands clenched. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. Or perhaps my father once. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. I found him once in my rooms, and I believe that he had a key to my front door. " "I don't unterstand you," returned Mrs. To-morrow I shall come and talk to you again—of other things. CHAPTER XV.
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