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“Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. She was chic, distinguished, unusual. I am a single man, and——” “Thank you,” she interrupted. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. "There it is!" cried Sir James, eagerly. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. See paragraph 1.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 28-09-2024 13:41:46