He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. ’ ‘That depends, that does,’ said Trodger guardedly. "Every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper. “It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. So he decided to stay. But luncheon and dinners you will sit at my table. ” It occurred to her that she had never seen her father dining out before, never watched him critically as an equal. It was astonishing how seldom it was that his instincts betrayed him. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened.
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