"You mistake,—you are mine. ‘It is not possible. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. There’d only be endless rows if I was at home. Did you break my mother's heart as you tried to break mine? I am no longer accountable to you for anything. ” She glanced out of the window, and the distant trees were a froth of hard spring green and almond blossom. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. We already had a place to mislay blame.
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