She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. Perhaps if I had watched over her more closely, things would have been different. The manager had sketched the girl's character, or rather had interpreted it, from the incidents which had happened since dinner. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. That is what marriage is to most young women: the ultimate escape from the family, from the unwritten laws that govern children. Drink for him had a queer phase.
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