The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Go to your sister, and do not quit her till all is over. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano.
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