" CHAPTER V. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. I suppose that shocks one’s ideas. She had eaten little or no tea, and her mid-day meal had been worse than nothing. Treat me as an elder brother, if you like. “I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said.
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