“I wonder,” he said, “if women do know things by instinct? I have my doubts about feminine instinct. Oh, and weeks and months of thought and feeling there are bottled up too. But when she spoke her lips quivered, and they came. Steeples toppled, and towers reeled beneath its fury. But this calm was more awful than the previous roaring of the blast. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. He told her something about music, the great world outside. Then they had released her arms and were trying to push her away. She had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her sister—was a lady. I bent over him.
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