“I don’t know much about the technique of music,” he said at last, with his eyes upon her. They were properly brought up, and sat still and straight, and took the luck fate brought them as gentlewomen should. The period of repression was over. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn.
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