" The doctor ran his fingers through his hair, despairingly. Daughters were not like sons. I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. “You are persuaded to come and take part in these outrageous proceedings— many of you, I am convinced, have no idea whatever of their nature. But, no. ‘Never fear, my love. Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror. Lost from all protection, all her family dead—as are mine. Life is so good. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. You Americans laugh at our custom of honouring our ancestors, our many-times great grandfathers.
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