“I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. "I have hurt you because I would not trust you. He's nice. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. You do not understand, and you would like to. Never! Perhaps some day, quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-room.
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