‘One thing at a time, missie. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. “You underestimate your own sickness, and the ill humors that struck you may strike again. Time after time he reminded her of how powerless she would be without him, how unkind the world was towards single women. “Should I leave? Sounds like she is running out of food. ” Michelle said sassily. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. But at the beginning of the affray, when he thought every one was too much occupied with his own concerns to remark his absence, he slipped out of the room, not for the purpose of avoiding the engagement (for cowardice was not one of his failings), but because he had another object in view.
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