Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. He regarded that perennial miracle of pinning with wrathful eyes. She drew a breath, and sighed it out. This extraordinary child had opened up an old channel through which it was no longer safe to cruise. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. Sebastian was gone and another doctor came to bleed her, to rid her of the black humors that were causing the plague. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. The body of Jack Sheppard, meanwhile, was borne along by that tremendous host, which rose and fell like the waves of the ocean, until it approached the termination of the Edgeware Road. About her, as she had gone day by day to and from the Tredgold College, she had seen and not seen many an incidental aspect of those sides of life about which girls are expected to know nothing, aspects that were extraordinarily relevant to her own position and outlook on the world, and yet by convention ineffably remote.
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