A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. ” “Mr. “It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths. "My wife and daughter, Sir," said the carpenter, introducing them to his guest. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. \"Hardwood floors. And then suddenly—a relief.
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