The major’s hand stilled. One trouble, however, shot its slanting bolts athwart the shining warmth of that opening day and marred its perfection, and that was the thought of her father. He saw three people: a young man at the piano, an elderly man smoking in a corner, and a young woman reclining in a chair, her eyes closed. ‘Certainly I am not a nun. No other white people within twenty miles. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience.
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