’ Charvill eyed the girl with resentment. There's my thumb upon it. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. ’ She turned, her eyes narrowed. “Dear me! I wonder what I ought to do. " It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. I wonder if I should have locked you up if I’d been your father.
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