“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. " "O Heavens!" screamed Winifred, while her father lifted up his hands in silent horror. He reached for her and she stroked his head soothingly as his mother had done a few times when he had suffered bad fevers. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare.
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