He called a waiter. Good-looking girl. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. She could not feel her own body. She had something of the feeling a Hindoo must experience who has been into surroundings or touched something that offends his caste. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited. But her tears had been for Leonardo’s expulsion, and the loss of his companionship.
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