Capes?” she heard her aunt saying. 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. "Then it is not too late to save him. "A little suffering will do him good. He wasn't satisfied with an assured income from the paper-mills your grandfather left us. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. He said simply that he wanted her to live at home.
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