At first Spurlock tasted coconut in his eggs, in what meat he ate; it permeated everything, taste and smell. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. But in the train going home her aunt reasoned it out. See? Down we should rush in a foam—in a cloud of snow—to flight and a dream. Her hair was gathered up behind, in a sort of pad, according to the then prevailing mode; and she wore a muslin cap, and pinners with crow-foot edging. "I have dreamed that I shall see him before I die," she rejoined. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. “Of course,” said Miss Miniver—she went on in a regularly undulating voice —“we DO please men.
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