"Swear that you will do this," she cried. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. “Don’t they look like a pair of young lovers sleeping off a tryst?” He observed. ‘What is the matter?’ ‘Is there nothing you do not know?’ she asked faintly.
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