I wonder how it is,” she added, “that boys always make love so impertinently. I'll try to fill in the gaps. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. And when she took and married that Mr Charvill, we didn’t think to see her at Remenham House no more. “The wrappered life-discipline! One comes to that at last. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. She felt this was the sensible way out of this oddly sinister situation. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears.
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