I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. “We have no airs and graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage. “Morning, Mom. On searching the coat, he found, amongst other matters, a mask, a key, and a pocket-book. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. But what can we do? Here am I, fixed to respectability and this laboratory; you’re living at home. Or felt it. That old chap has a remarkable range in reading. " It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word.
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