When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. It was past seven when she got back to her hotel. Cars rushed by on the street, swerving into the middle of the two lane road to avoid the knee-deep puddles forming around sewer grates. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. ” And to that, through vast rhetorical meanderings, she clung. \"I don't eat lunch. It’s so different from what one has been led to expect.
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