Brown was no fool, and he understood the sudden onus of the other children to share the limelight. By and by he gathered enough courage to lean toward her. “My dear,” she began, with an affectionate hand on Ann Veronica’s shoulder, “I do SO wish you would realize how it grieves your father. "Ay, murder him, if you like the term," returned Wild. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. The Bitchster strikes again.
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