The commissionaire stood there, tall and imperturbable. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. He drew her closer. As we turned the corner of the street, I noticed that the electric light was burning in this room. “You will not give Sir John any cause for jealousy? You will have no secrets from him except—concerning those things which are past?” “Anna, I swear it!” her sister sobbed.
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