Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. “I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt. . ” Her father’s irony deepened. "Love me, love my dog! Because I've scolded him and told him a few truths, you are ice to me. For hours after she had not been sensible to life, only to exquisite echoes. "Again," cried Jonathan, sternly: "beware!" "What!" vociferated Trenchard. “There is some one else whom I care for!” He laughed hardly.
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