“I’ve been thinking of you all night,” she answered. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. I did not know what I was saying. Not Trodger. . Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. Queer old gentleman! The art of ignoring is one of the accomplishments of every well-bred girl, so carefully instilled that at last she can even ignore her own thoughts and her own knowledge.
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