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With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. " The spinster did not ask if the mother lived; the question was inconsequent. “This is the slavery of the veiled life. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. She closed her eyes more vividly to recall some line which had carried the blot. At least, you are one, and I am disguised like one. ‘Dunderhead.
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