"How are you off there, Shoplatch?" inquired Kneebone. She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. ’ ‘But you must. All make the same answer—'d—n you, keep it. ’ She sagged a little suddenly, as if the painful memories in her mind had exhausted her body. I defy you to explain it away.
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