So long as she could remember, her father had never permitted her to sit at the table unless she came fully dressed. We have lived under the same roof, but our ways seem to have lain wide apart. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. “Delusion!” “You can call it what you like,” she said. I shan't let you off a farthing.
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