207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. From what she could tell, he truly had convinced himself that he was in love with her, but she knew that his ardor would fade eventually inasmuch as she knew John’s would. They did not spend most days together. During detention she orchestrated Ray Plote's murder. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. ” “Served the beast right,” Ennison declared. This wedge of silver," pointing to another, "which would mend a coffee-pot, serves to stop up a breach made by Will Colthurst, who robbed Mr. laws alone swamp our small staff. She seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, handing over the means of her freedom. It is that, is it not?” “No,” he answered readily. Since then he has persistently annoyed me.
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