“Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. If I were to marry you now I should feel a dependent being all my life—a sort of parasitical creature without blood or muscle. "I haven't offended you?"—not contritely but curiously. ” “I may have to run,” said her father, with an appeal to his watch.
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