Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. “I expected you this morning,” he said. ‘Why, that’s it. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. ” She raked into the fire with the poker. ‘Do not move, messieurs, or I shall be compelled to blow off your head. ‘Poor things.
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