She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. But the aunt seized her in her arms and rocked with her. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. “I regret that you should ever have proposed it,” he went on. Her aunt arrived about halfpast ten, in black and with an unusually thick spotted veil. “It’s a way of avoiding explanations.
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