"Where are the boys?" "In the hall. But I am sick of tearing up letters and hopeless of getting what I have to say better said. I know London better than you, and I have had to earn my own living. He subjected me there to great annoyance by claiming me as his wife. I’m sorry. There was another little thing he had to say. Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice. Her aunt went out of the room with dignity and a rustle, and up-stairs to the fastness of her own room. I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. Can't I make you understand? Perhaps it sounds cruel to you; but we women often have to be cruel defensively. And, besides, she didn’t just immediately want to make her attempt. You are different, Lucia, undamaged even after what you have been through, still pure of heart.
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