It did not occur to her that save for some accidents of education and character they had souls like her own. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. ‘To go to these Charvill, it was not in my plot. “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. I shall like to think of it—whenever I feel dull. ‘We don’t know who she is.
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