But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. Hardened as he may be, that would touch him. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. With a faint view of overtaking them the pursuer urged his steed to a quicker pace.
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