One trouble, however, shot its slanting bolts athwart the shining warmth of that opening day and marred its perfection, and that was the thought of her father. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. Until that was done a certain experience of life assured him that a girl is a locked coldness against a man’s approach. I shall quit this roof to-morrow.
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