You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me. It's as well to be on the safe side. Most of them didn’t, anyhow. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. She went from period to period exactly as she would have read prose; so that sense and music were equally balanced.
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