The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. It’s to do with adolescence. “Thank you. But on this matter my mind is quite made up. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. I've sent for the priest. ’ ‘You little fiend,’ exclaimed Gerald wrathfully.
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