Supposing you fetch what you can, and if you will allow me, I will see you off. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. Very likely you will disapprove highly of what I have done—I wonder? You may, perhaps, think I have done it just in a fit of childish petulance because my father locked me in when I wanted to go to a ball of which he did not approve. Your aunt liked the pheasant. Everything.
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