“Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. She said that your mother was only fifteen when she went to live with them. It numbered nine, and four of these were women students. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. They had a universe to talk about—two universes. Imbecile. “I am very glad to hear you say it,” he repeated, and refrained from further inquiry. She felt like Snow White in a secret forest house populated by dwarves.
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