"Spare me!" he groaned, looking upwards. “My dear, can you see in this light? I think I would like to get in. I'll tell you what. ” He bit, feeling the numb desire to maul her. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. “Oh, there’s no doubt of it! Since the girls of the eighties broke bounds and sailed away on bicycles—my young days go back to the very beginnings of that —it’s been one triumphant relaxation. He is all kindness, and will overlook them for your poor father's sake —for mine. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. I would that you were my own. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs.
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