“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. Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. I want to get away. Indeed, he told me nothing at all. “There is something to be said for the lady-like theory after all,” she admitted. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. Old Bedlam. The knowledge breathed into her heart a satisfying warmth. Yet here you are, and at precisely the right moment, too. His head turned sideways towards the noise, his brows scowling.
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