hopelessly, and it made me desperate. A diversion was created by the violent struggles of the little old lady. She never questioned the motives of the characters; she had neither the ability nor the conceit for that; but she could and often did correct his lapses in colour. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror. . The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. ” “Much better,” she agreed.
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