She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. Three times she escaped. ” 189 “Are you feeling okay?” She could feel a parade of ants dotting her skin. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. . ’ She giggled suddenly. She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration.
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