I can't invent; the thing won't come. "Come! I see the storm has blown over," cried Winifred, brightening up. But it would serve. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work. The less she lived, in fact, the better.
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