She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. He looked at her in some embarrassment. So I had to buy out his interest, and it pinched me dreadfully to do it. I find you were excessively brave, mon pauvre. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. “In Paris your sister appeared to me to be a charming student of frivolity.
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