But always this new phase in life which civilization called convention threw up barrier after barrier. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. "No, I shan't," replied Rachel, saucily. Melusine soon found herself seated at a table, with a dirty piece of paper in front of her, and a badly mended pen between her fingers.
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