That would not help her. "My father!" she whispered. I’d only have to do something about it, and that I can’t. She had one idea, she found, very clear in her mind—that she would get a Research Scholarship, and so contrive another year in the laboratory. “No thanks. To be jeune demoiselle, it is not always convenient. We'll get together this afternoon; and you can pretend that I am your father. These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and began again.
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