"Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. His voice had broken. "A bad girl?" She put the question as she would have put any question—leveleyed and level-toned. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. ’ Kimble nodded. But the father, to go his way forever alone! The iron in the man!—the iron in this child of his! Wanting a little love, a caress now and then. How she needed him! Next moment, she had wrenched open the door, and was confronting her guard.
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