It’s these damned novels. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. ‘They cannot be worse than mine in English, monsieur. The Yale spirit! Ah Cum smiled whimsically.
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