Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. “Not to-night,” she said. “Of course I will,” he answered. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. We have to hang about in the interval.
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