She pulled a few strands of her hair from her head to leave with Michelle’s. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. She had better escape if she can. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him.
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