Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. He found his youngest daughter intrusive in his thoughts all through the morning, and still more so in the afternoon. Occasionally he would lean back and stare at the window which gave upon the sea. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. I’m going up to London with the Widgetts to that ball. “It is just a look.
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