Go on. When he was up and about, the idea of flight would return. He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison. “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. For five minutes he has been trying to think of something to say. ‘But I don’t trust you an inch. ” She looked at him doubtfully. “Your father is in the study and wishes to speak to you. I want to but I cannot! Please accept that!” She yelled. She hoped desperately that Mrs. "No, no, let him alone," interposed Wood. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. .
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