Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. For a moment she thought of saying yes, and then filled with shame. "How sweet these roses are! Shall I put them into water?" "Put them where they came from," replied Mrs. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. I think I asked if I could eat lunch with her and Trisha Deere one day and she said there was no room at the table. ’ ‘You always were an old sobersides, even as a boy,’ retorted the major, who was close on thirty now, yet as ripe for excitement as he had been on receiving his first commission at sixteen.
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