Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. What sort of a standard of life yours may be I do not know, yet in your heart you know very well that every word you have spoken to me has been a veiled insult, every time you have come into my presence has been an outrage. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright. " "Bah!" returned the woollen-draper. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. It will do its best to overlook things—” “If we let it, poor dear. She tried to scream, \"I'm coming to you, Mama!\" But no sound would come from her mouth. "I alone am to blame.
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