“If I were to marry now,” she said, “it would be with a sense of humiliation. Perhaps an hour later he would begin again. “It is just a look. You have betrayed me. We’re hard stuff!” Then she went on: “To think that is my father! Oh, my dear! He stood over me like a cliff; the thought of him nearly turned me aside from everything we have done. The beachcomber, the lowest in the human scale; and some day he would enter into this estate. Earles would permit. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. It contained three sovereigns, six and fourpence, two postage stamps, a small key, and her aunt’s return half ticket to Morningside Park.
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