“You asked me in to tea,” he protested. They thought that she was her own mother. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. ’ ‘Ah, but why remain penniless? After all, your grandfather Charvill—’ ‘Again with the grandfather? Mon ami, if you imagine that this grandfather will welcome a daughter of Nicholas Charvill, whom he has never forgiven that he married a Frenchwoman, then you have an imagination entirely wrong. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical.
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