” “It’s the perpetual trouble,” he said, “of parent and child. Dear me, what a difference it has made! No one would ever think that we were sisters. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. ” “How?” He asked. I cannot think he will welcome a French émigré for his granddaughter. “Alice—Alice gone dotty, and all over kids.
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