" Upon this he arose, and paced the room hastily backwards and forwards, as if further arranging his plans. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. And experience was slow in coming. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. ’ ‘Yes, but I do not like to scrub the floor and peel the vegetables and feed the pig. " "That's better. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically.
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