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“I will not have this slavery,” she said. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. “Then let me be the judge of what is best,” she answered. Always! I don’t believe there is any strong natural affection at all between parents and growing-up children.
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