"How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. She felt she must get him talking upon some impersonal theme at any cost. “Surely!” he remarked, with an expression of worried appeal. She hurried with Jack as fast as she could to the open door to the passage. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. CHAPTER VI. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. When I am leading a true life, a pure and simple life free of all stimulants and excitements, I think—I think— oh! with pellucid clearness; but if I so much as take a mouthful of meat—or anything—the mirror is all blurred.
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