” “I suppose I must have thought so. ‘So now we come to it. This whole affair is truly my fault. She looked at him mournfully. I struck him across the mouth, and across the eyes. " "Sit down, my dear, sit down," interposed Mrs. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. His smile faded. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. I’ve never had these crying fits before.
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