"My father!" she whispered. This lifeless appearance was heightened by the extreme sharpness of her features—especially the nose and chin,—and by the emaciation of her limbs, which was painfully distinct through her drapery. What sort of a standard of life yours may be I do not know, yet in your heart you know very well that every word you have spoken to me has been a veiled insult, every time you have come into my presence has been an outrage. I wasn't taught that; I simply fell into it from contact. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice.
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