The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair. This made the eleventh. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. She hurried with Jack as fast as she could to the open door to the passage.
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