Mr. Bennet’s book room held no fear for Elizabeth. Papa was adamant that he would not tolerate chatter or noise within his sanctuary, but upon occasion, when his second daughter found her way in there to borrow or return a tome, Mr. Bennet would smile faintly and bid her sit down. Papa never invited her directly, of course; it was not his way. He would close his book and affect to sigh, looking at Elizabeth impatiently. A polished chair was brusquely gestured toward or a finger elegantly flicked to the tea tray that she brought.
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