CHAPTER XI. It is not well that a daughter should talk to her father as Ruth talked to hers that day. He's down in Patagonia somewhere. When they came to the round-house, Terry's courage failed him. She went to her room and changed the loose morning gown in which she had lunched for a dark walking dress. So long as she could remember, her father had never permitted her to sit at the table unless she came fully dressed. All at once they came to the top, the faded blue sky overhead, and whichever way he looked, the horizon, the great rocking circle which hemmed them in. She made a double kill mid-month in a trailer park, a forty year old man and his seventeen year old wife, finding out too late that she was seven weeks pregnant. “Why on earth did you TELL me?” he cried. Hope reared. The meat was coarse and disagreeably served. She nodded.
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