“Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. You fell in at once with her quixotic and damnable scheme of foisting her reputation and her follies upon your shoulders whilst she marries a rich man and commences all over again a life of selfish pleasure. There was no need of sowing suspicion when he wasn't really certain there were grounds for it. " On a shelf was placed a row of paint-jars; the contents of which had been daubed in rainbow streaks upon the adjacent closet and window sill. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. Too bad he’s not interested in any girl who’s not a musician. There would be no moon. I will go with you.
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