She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. “Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. Very well, then. I want to make myself visible to you. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who was enjoying himself. And, after all, a fine clear sky of bright colors is the signal to come out of hiding and rejoice and go on with life. Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous.
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