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Daughters were not like sons. “You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. He did not like it, he said, with a significant look, to be reminded of either his books or his dinners after he had done with them. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror.
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