What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice. I’ve accustomed myself to think of you— as if you were like every other girl who works at the schools—as something quite outside these possibilities. In the hall below she could hear his firm voice giving quick commands to the servants. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. She was surprised at his modesty.
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