The horns were the worst, slipping in and out of tune and rushing the easy sections, fighting everyone else. She liked to cook even though normal food was not nourishing to her. It was empty. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount.
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