“This wonderful affection of yours for my sister, does it date from your first meeting with her in Paris?” He hesitated. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. Surely he was imagining this picture. She went from period to period exactly as she would have read prose; so that sense and music were equally balanced. Do you indeed remember? The smell of decay and cheap methylated spirit!.
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