Sir John stood upon the threshold. ’ ‘Ah. It seemed intolerable that she should go home and admit herself beaten. Only your pa knew as how I were the one as saw to you at the wet-nurse’s cottage, and he got a-hold of me and made me bring him to you. Your father…. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. My birthday was on May first. They’ve just got to keep white. Or, if you must take off my clothes, don't dash cold water on my head. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. ’ He grinned. There was a flash and a loud report. I want to love him.
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