A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. "I never saw the like of you! One has to guard one's actions constantly in this wicked world, if one is a woman, young and pretty. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. “She thinks that Missy is trying to turn me into a punk or a Goth.
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