My sister was scarcely likely to make a mistake. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. Mr. “My dear Anna! As though I should think of depressing you with my long list of misdeeds. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. ” Her reverie broke, and she found herself still in front of the looking glass, a barrette hanging loosely from her hair.
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