We girls, my sister and I, were left quite alone when our father died, and I made up my mind to make some little place in the world for myself. He glanced at it, and saw the bloodied blade. In nearly every speech she heard was the same implication of great and necessary changes in the world—changes to be won by effort and sacrifice indeed, but surely to be won. How to hold her, how to keep her at his side; this was the problem with which he struggled. "I don't know," she answered vaguely. “Perhaps, as I’ve only just arrived,” she remarked, “I might be forgiven if I do not change my skirt. Gosse were you born, and Gosse will you remain to your death.
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