‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. ’ He bowed slightly, and indicated the house behind them with a wave of his hand. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle.
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