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. His kind eyes were puffy with fatigue. ” He left at once, immensely relieved, yet scarcely satisfied with himself as regarded his share of the interview with this young woman. She even had books by H. Capes joined the students at tea, and displayed himself in an impish mood that sometimes possessed him. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. It is dull—deadly dull.
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