“Why should I bear the burden of your wickedness? Who knows what might come of it? I shall permit nothing of the sort. You see, I—I am a woman worshipper. There's good stuff in him, if one could find the way to dig it out. I must break open the door. I can no longer bear to address you by that formal madame. You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. “She doesn’t know. She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it.
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