A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. She tried not to blush. Mr. He went to Harvard instead. He will be some time in this comatose state. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. What duty does a girl owe to any one before her father? Obedience to him, that is surely the first law. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time.
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