Certainly as soon as I have found my right place at Remenham House, I must find out everything. F. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. A kind but hard looking female officer named Rose took her into a room and sat her down at a small wooden table. 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. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. That's why I'm so anxious to get her to a haven. Anna was singing as she used to sing. “It isn’t only the dance,” she said. “Forty guineas a week. Or was that perhaps because his business in Piccadilly the other day had gone awry? Perhaps Brewis Charvill had not welcomed him with open arms. But I'll take care of her bill, if worst comes to worst. Then he went on: “—and, indeed, to most of the established things in life is, frankly, unsatisfactory. She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment.
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