All right. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. She was naturally weaker, she would tire quicker, and she need not concern herself with the peculiar obligations of honour obtaining amongst gentlemen. “What’s the objection?” “I suppose she ought to know?” said Gwen to her mother, trying to alter the key of the conversation.
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