We girls, my sister and I, were left quite alone when our father died, and I made up my mind to make some little place in the world for myself. Although Martha did not know it, she had her pistol and her daggers, and her knife. I didn’t understand before that letter. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. Almost the best of all.
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