“Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years. Gold-handled, too. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. I knew it. Old Jersey and Hampshire family, the Pellissiers, and a capital stock, too, I believe.
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