Me, I prefer to forget that I have such a father. Her mouth dry, she made her feet walk on, not daring to utter a word. He buys his own clothes, chooses his own company, makes his own way of living. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. She seemed bursting with the desire to talk, and watching for her opportunity.
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