At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it. My mother, I'm sure, didn't intend to hurt your feelings. " "But why? In the name of God, why? Your flesh and blood! Have you never loved anything?" "Are you indeed my daughter's lawful husband?" Enschede countered. I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff.
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