It was hard to meet that gaze. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. Her confession was still unmade. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding. “We don’t want things to happen!” Never had he shown his daughter so clearly that the womenkind he was persuaded he had to protect and control could please him in one way, and in one way only, and that was by doing nothing except the punctual domestic duties and being nothing except restful appearances.
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