She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. "Is it wrong, then, to surrender to good impulses?" "In the present instance, yes. I don’t think I shall ever care for this bonnet again. “There is a secret. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. We never started out in any high-browed manner to scandalize and Shelleyfy. “Before I heard much Wagnerian music I heard enthusiastic descriptions of it from a mistress I didn’t like at school.
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