“My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. A quick flush stained her cheeks. . “She must be warned. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. One trouble, however, shot its slanting bolts athwart the shining warmth of that opening day and marred its perfection, and that was the thought of her father. Even now he was not at all sure that she was not playing with him. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams.
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