” “All these things,” he muttered bitterly, “this desperate resolve to take your life into your own hands, your unnatural craving for independence, would never trouble you for a moment—if you really cared. ” She thanked him with a look and rose to her feet. "I see," rejoined Hogarth, rapidly sketching a file, which he placed in the hands of the picture. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. ’ ‘Eh bien, you are not a saint,’ Melusine snapped.
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