Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened. There were mysterious sounds, all of them musical. "It's a fine idea, my child, but you mustn't do it. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him. There must be ways of getting rid of him. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived.
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