God, we suck. "He knows he had to take it. I am an independent sort of person,” she continued, “and I am engaged in an attempt to earn my own living. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. “No,” she answered, reluctantly. Then, her body still tense with the atoms of anger, she sat down upon the edge of the bed and rocked from side to side. ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch. I wonder——” He turned slowly round. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. “But, dear, think! He is your father.
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