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” Sir John seated himself deliberately. Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. It’s not a bit of good pretending there’s any Higher Truth or wonderful principle in this business. By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. In the morning and at night he is dressed as he would dress in the big hotels. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. One is always familiar with the business of one’s neighbours.
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