Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. She decided to call in the help of Teddy Widgett, or, failing him, of one of his sisters. " "Dear me!" sympathised Mrs. Do you think I would marry you? Rather would I marry the pig in the convent. Toys! Delicate trifles! A sex of invalids.
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