The tall, blond boys, right?” “That’s them. “Go on!” she commanded. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. So far, however, was this submission from producing the desired effect, that it seemed only to lend additional fuel to her displeasure. Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. She made herself a private declaration of liberty. Yesterday this glorious creature had loved him; to-day she was only friendly.
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