The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. A failure! She must write herself down a failure! At her age, with her ambitions, with her artistic temperament and creative instincts, she was yet to be denied all coherent means of expression. ” “We’ll have, thank God! ten myriad days to tell each other things. Don’t ask me how. “But, dear, think! He is your father. ‘How do you do? I am so happy to meet you.
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