She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. ’ She waved towards a handy table to one side which was piled high with so many volumes, it looked in imminent danger of crashing to the floor. Her husband finally relented. “I will make of the days and weeks one long morning, but remember the afternoon must come. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. It’s horrible to think of you!” “You’re an awful brick, Teddy!” she said. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws.
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