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‘The sisters here will not save you. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. "After all, he is my father, Hoddy; and I cursed him. Either it was an unfortunate recovery of a trail, or he had followed her from Mayfair. She might even forgive him. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. She raided their settlements in shifts, staggering her kills from tribe to tribe, undiscriminating of their petty politics. "The poor things!" The manager laughed. There's good stuff in him, if one could find the way to dig it out. . He made the universe on those lines. This farewell had been particularly distasteful to him. It cuts. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it.
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