So long as she could remember, her father had never permitted her to sit at the table unless she came fully dressed. She could hardly speak to me; she insisted relentlessly upon a separation. Afterward, one afternoon, he hovered about her, and came and sat beside her and talked of beauty and the riddle of beauty for some time. What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whisky and a friendly American bar-keep to talk to. CHAPTER VII. Like carpenter, like chips. She launched into a stuffy Partita 89 and played it too fast. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master.
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