“You poor thing. Here's a nosegay for you, my love," she continued, opening her basket, and presenting a fragrant bunch of flowers to Winifred, "if your mother will allow me to give it you. As you admitted to me—one has to square one’s self with the world. Each time also we quarrel, and even if you are laughing very much, you become angry. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. "But bring your glim this way. “I never planned it—And now I have begun—” She felt acutely that he was entitled to explanations, and as acutely that explanations were impossible that night. "I'll see him fettered myself.
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