This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. ‘Do not be alarmed, Jacques. Why are you so anxious?" "Oh, if you can't see your way…. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master.
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