But the father, to go his way forever alone! The iron in the man!—the iron in this child of his! Wanting a little love, a caress now and then. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. He was not quite sure whether, after all, he had been wise. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did not love him, or he knew nothing of love signs.
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