The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. We have lived under the same roof, but our ways seem to have lain wide apart. "I was afraid it would be so. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice.
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