“—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. "Have you been more successful, Sir?" ventured Ireton. Denis. I was just like a sort of dummy that does things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled. Wood's astonishment and displeasure momentarily increased. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house.
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