He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. ‘I am sure you will. “But of course it’s aunt’s doing really. It isn't your duty. My goodness gracious. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. The chair was torture. She is something different.
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