She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. Wood could not avoid making a slight shuffling sound. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. Words were given with their original meaning, without their ramifications. She stood on the mat instead, and looked down on him. You have never known what it is to want food, raiment, shelter. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart.
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