“By-the-bye,” he said, presently, “your sister was married to old Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t she? I saw the notice in the papers. I must!” She threw open the door and pointed to it. “There’s no one here except me. ‘Troops?’ ‘Go, man,’ urged the major in an undervoice. A failure! She must write herself down a failure! At her age, with her ambitions, with her artistic temperament and creative instincts, she was yet to be denied all coherent means of expression.
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