‘A word, if you please, my friend. The misty caravans of which she had dreamed were become actualities. 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 had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners.
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