Luckily I’m not. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. Why? Here was a curtain indeed. It was in fact the first embrace of motherhood she had ever known. She had never seen her sitting on tables nor heard her discussing theology, and had failed to observe that the graceful figure was a natural one and not due to ably chosen stays. You disgust me. F. .
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