She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. ‘And you, my girl, if you’d been born at all, would have been just what you think you are. The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. Stanley had never thought out. Anna sighed as she reflected that her sister had simply revelled in her indiscretions. My sister made me over, you know. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew.
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