"Holloa—what's that?" cried Austin, starting up. He thrust out a rhetorical hand. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. It’s all very fine and all that, Vee, this freedom, but it isn’t going to work. It was a clear, lovely, October morning. ” “Why not?” “You see, if I do go home my father objects to the College, and as for typing —” “Don’t go home.
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