‘From the convent, where else?’ ‘It does not strike me that you can possibly have been in a convent. The sounds of the seashore infiltrated her dreams as she floated in heavenly bliss of sleep. I have gone without dinner for three nights, and—come in. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical.
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