He was silent. He stamped his last letter as Annabel entered. Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts. “I don’t see, Mollie,” he remarked, taking a cigar from the box on the table as his sister and daughter rose, “why you and Vee shouldn’t discuss this little affair —whatever it is—without bothering me. 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. They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug. "If I had, you'd not have seen me here," replied Jack, sullenly. If you knew your aunt were alive, if she expected you, that would be different. She felt that perhaps, in her desire to play an adequate part in the conversation, she had talked rather more freely than she ought to have done, and given him a wrong impression of herself. It is better as it is.
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