“Look here, father,” she said, with a change in her voice, “suppose I won’t stand it?” He regarded her as though this was a new idea. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. He upset some one —probably Mr. Twenty guineas, mind. They all balk because there aren't any petticoats. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence.
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