She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. ‘When you’re my age, you’ll be just as hardheaded. ” She nodded in the affirmative. He walked through a wide open archway, curtained with deep-blue curtains, into the apartment that served as a reception-room. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them.
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