Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. ‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me. The Chapel. I could never make you understand.
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