’ ‘Je m’en moque. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared. The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst unsuspected screens and concealments. She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. .
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