"Often. She had a compartment to herself in the train from London to Morningside Park, and she sat with both her feet on the seat in an attitude that would certainly have distressed her mother to see, and horrified her grandmother beyond measure; she sat with her knees up to her chin and her hands clasped before them, and she was so lost in thought that she discovered with a start, from a lettered lamp, that she was at Morningside Park, and thought she was moving out of the station, whereas she was only moving in. "Flying fish. ‘You were his daughter. " Some order. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. ‘C’est ridicule.
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