’ Her face fell. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. Loneliness. . The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. But it must have been something that could show her to be Mary’s daughter.
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