‘Because,’ said Lady Bicknacre in the confidential manner of all matrons when passing on a tidbit of scandal, ‘Nicholas married against his father’s wishes and ran away. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. Aliva Trencher. He can't play cards, either, when he's sober. She took a deep breath. I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. Beethoven; he’s the best of them. The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. And I have seen work by his pupils myself that struck me as being—well, next door to shameful.
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