It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit. "Was I out of my head?" "Yes. " The doctor was in the middle fifties, gray and careworn, but with alert blue eyes and a gentle mouth. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day. That paper must be signed, or I take my departure. He had been gone entirely one day, for yesterday afternoon he had departed from Remenham House, and she had waited with patience like a saint, and now it was again the afternoon. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him.
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