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Some of your sex, I mean. ’ Charvill eyed the girl with resentment. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. She did not hear his approach, but continued her occupation without raising her head. My eyes are open to you. He hated horizons. I should only disappoint you terribly some day.
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