He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. With an open hand, he slapped her face. Her mouth was an effective tourniquet. “You see, daddy, I don’t think it IS preposterous. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. good, miss.
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