“Well,” she said, “good-night, father. She opened this and scrambled out—a thing she had not done for five long years of adolescence— upon the leaded space above the built-out bath-room on the first floor. It is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures. You were pointed out to me at—a few nights ago. She finished the olive and looked up.
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