And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. Luckily, they were not easily discomposed. She wants that and needs it more than anything else in the world. It was long and narrow, with a ceiling supported by huge uncovered rafters, and so low as scarcely to allow a tall man like himself to stand erect beneath it.
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