My father thought the latter. ‘What?’ Roding snapped, coming quickly to tower above the window seat. “Do you mean to say that you have been here ever since I came?” “I am afraid that I must confess it,” he answered. He followed. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. Always! I don’t believe there is any strong natural affection at all between parents and growing-up children. It was bad luck to go to Canongate.
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