Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. I’m sick of this town and I can’t wait to get out. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. ” “They know you better,” he declared. But perhaps he was right not to tell you the truth. She looked at it with a little shudder, but she made no motion to take it. I MUST.
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