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It’s an instinct. She had a compartment to herself in the train from London to Morningside Park, and she sat with both her feet on the seat in an attitude that would certainly have distressed her mother to see, and horrified her grandmother beyond measure; she sat with her knees up to her chin and her hands clasped before them, and she was so lost in thought that she discovered with a start, from a lettered lamp, that she was at Morningside Park, and thought she was moving out of the station, whereas she was only moving in. “This party must be so boring for you. "Do nothing without consulting my father—your father, Thames," she implored. These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and began again. A creeping numbness invaded her. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. One keeps rules in order to be one’s self. "No more, please! I am bewildered enough.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 26-09-2024 12:12:18