‘Shall we abandon the guard, then, sir?’ ‘Certainly not. Don’t try. ‘She won’t like it,’ prophesied the captain gloomily. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. It was finished by the end of that year, each character having asserted itself pronouncedly in my imagination. He would never recognize me now. “Perhaps, as I’ve only just arrived,” she remarked, “I might be forgiven if I do not change my skirt. He smiled inwardly. If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it.
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