Edina

this had been done for her: but she was much more vexed when she found it was their daily style of living. To her, with the frugal notions implanted in her by her father's early straits, with her naturally simple tastes, and her conscientious judging of what was right and wrong, this profusion seemed sinful waste. And—they were all so grand! The faded cottons and washed-out muslins, had of course been discarded, but they had given place to costly gossamer fabrics and to silks that rustled in their richness. They were now just as much over-dressed as formerly they were the opposite. Alice had already put off black for her aunt Atkinson, and was in very slight mourning indeed: in lilac or white hues, with black or grey ribbons. With it all, they were acquiring a hard, indifferent tone, as though the world's changes and sorrows could never again concern them.

"All this looks new," mused Edina, referring to the appurtenances of the room. "I don't fancy Aunt Ann

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