What!— you know so little of that child? She ran away from you. And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. “Think of the mockery!” she said. Wanted her out of the way because he had been afraid of her, afraid of himself! He, at fifty-four! Then into this void poured a flaming anger, a blind and unreasoning anger. The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes. Seizing her hand he covered it with kisses.
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