She had decided that she would spend the next morning answering advertisements in the papers that abounded in the writing-room; and so, after half an hour’s perusal of back numbers of the Sketch in the drawingroom, she had gone to bed. The father would be all steel. “Damn! Things are getting plainer. Now we meet again, and you will scarcely look at me. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. That is what marriage is to most young women: the ultimate escape from the family, from the unwritten laws that govern children.
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