‘My papa he does not wish me to marry the man I choose, and thus he places me in the convent that the nuns may lock me up and I cannot escape. She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman of talent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmas cards, or teaching at a kindergarten. “Until you marry, Vee,” said Hetty. “Quite particularly nice,” said her aunt. Then she would be dead, and that was no use.
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