That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. His eyes were fixed upon her face, but he opened his lips twice before he spoke. Her aunt did not object to capital punishment or war, or the industrial system or casual wards, or flogging of criminals or the Congo Free State, because none of these things really got hold of her imagination; but she did object, she did not like, she could not bear to think of people not having and enjoying their meals. He was all alone, too. And when she took and married that Mr Charvill, we didn’t think to see her at Remenham House no more. Or become a thorough-going typist and stenographer and secretarial expert.
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