She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. To-day he selected the girl, and gave her the lead-chair. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. I get the feeling that you are special, so alone, so beautiful that I must get to the bottom of you if it takes my whole life. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. Save my seat. .
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