” “Do you mean,” Courtlaw asked, “that from now to the end of the six months you do not wish to see us—any of us?” Her eyes were a little dim again. The father would be all steel. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love.
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