Then she went into the office. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. Some day I may forgive you; but not now. The child has sprung into a youth; the youth has become a man; the man has already begun to feel the advances of age. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. Hilary threw up his eyes. It’s one of our conventional superstitions. " And then his interest would cease. Voilà tout.
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