"Mrs. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. Youth! You denied me even that," said Ruth, her glance now flashing to her father. ‘Hilary, you must stop referring to mademoiselle as “she”. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them.
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