She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. Life is morality—life is adventure. She struggled not to be afraid. “Go to London,” said Ann Veronica. We’re closer than you think. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. He was painfully in earnest, too. We Spurlocks take our medicine, standing. His little doll. I did not reckon upon—him.
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