There was no other door in it, and Jack therefore struck into another entry which branched off to the right. Her mother informed her of the betrothal on the first painful day of her menarche, shortly after her eleventh birthday. She tiptoed into the entryway where some decorator had placed a live orchid upon a glassy ebony table. This getting up at dawn—real dawn—and working until seven was a distinct novelty. Like the parrot, she could memorize the lines, but she could not understand them.
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