‘I don’t want a hue and cry after me, I thank you. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. Every care had been taken of it, as well as of himself, by the humane inmates of the house in which he had sought shelter. While you live in my house you must follow my ideas. Your history, your actions, nay, your very thoughts are better known to me than to your spiritual adviser. ’ She seemed to recollect herself suddenly. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances.
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