For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where
still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the
Wastrel's passage. "Fool!" he cried, "do you think I wouldn't have secured you before this if I hadn't
some motive for my forbearance?"
"And that motive is fear," replied Jack contemptuously. "I am, Charcoal. The thought of
their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact—
disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. She came to befriend the female mistresses, some who
were even so audacious as to bring their children into the
house. "Well," growled Blueskin, "you've had my offer. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. Some man!
And to conclude it all was the figure of her father in the doorway, giving her a
last chance, his hat in one hand, his umbrella in the other, shaken at her to
emphasize his point. Whatever may happen to-morrow I shall be none the better for anticipating its
miseries to-day. She had not anticipated such a
response from her classmates, but knew to be drawing
them with her self-consciousness as if they were bees to
pollen. I packed them with the other few things I owned. I will come later to see
you, Melusine. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www. She had begun to care about
her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a
thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate
golden filigree and rubies.
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