“And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. "Call as you please, beloved girl," he cried, "I will not stir till I am answered. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. A queer game this: he could not move directly as in an ordinary case of manhunt.
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