“I am sure of it. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. The Morning Post was hungry for governesses and nursery governesses, but held out no other hopes; the Daily Telegraph that morning seemed eager only for skirt hands. She was curious, and at the same time clearly resolved she must not hear it. . Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck. She dissected well, and in a year she found herself chafing at the limitations of the lady B.
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