I too can see it. But out of a belated regard for her father she wrote the surname of some one else. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. Lucy tried not to notice the starched smell, overpowering and powdery. 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. He is steeped in the conventions.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 19-09-2024 13:42:13
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