This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. She shrugged her shoulders. I wanted to, that day in the Zoo. Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops.
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