I do not think you quite understand my ideals or what is becoming as between father and daughter. There is strength in you— misguided. Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. You are restless, aggressive, critical with all the crude unthinking criticism of youth. "Remember the devil!" retorted Terence, who had recovered his natural audacity. But I do not love you. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. He jumped out of the car. “Home, of course,” she answered. She felt the thrill race through her body.
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