Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to her grandmother. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. He was a philosopher. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. And would you mind hurrying a little. You’re dogmatic. Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone. She was nearly dead. If I were Mr. The younger of the two, who was seated next to Jack, and seemed to monopolize his attention, could not be more than seventeen, though her person had all the maturity of twenty.
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