Then she would write and tell her father what she had done, and put their relationship on a new footing. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. ‘Cousin? But I am a fool. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. If not, I have plenty to think about,” she answered, leaning back in her chair, and watching the smoke from her own cigarette curl upwards.
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