“Suppose I chuck it,” she remarked, standing with the mauve slip in her hand —“suppose I chuck it, and surrender and go home! Perhaps, after all, Roddy was right! “Father keeps opening the door and shutting it, but a time will come— “I could still go home!” She held Ramage’s check as if to tear it across. This lady is my wife, and I have a right to be here. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. Lucy stood in front of the piano. So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. Some of the lunatics were rattling their chains; some shrieking; some singing; some beating with frantic violence against the doors. He was a little embarrassed. “How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. The father was a madman. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do.
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