At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. Notwithstanding the heat of the season,—which was not, however, found particularly inconvenient in this subterranean region,—a large heaped-up fire blazed ruddily in one corner, and lighted up a circle of as villanous countenances as ever flame shone upon. “Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. He embraced her, kissing her cheek, then her neck.
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