’ ‘Yes, it’s all my fault,’ he agreed soothingly, ‘and you may rail at me presently as much as you please. "Every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper. ’ The girl held out her hands. This queer father of hers had given her everything but his arms. That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings.
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