" As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. " "Never to return," remarked Jack, gloomily. “She’s been up to no good, Sheila. Suffer me to precede you. Your father has forbidden you to go!’” “Well?” “She said, ‘I hate being horrid to you and father, but I feel it my duty to go to that ball!’” “Felt it her duty!” “‘Very well,’ I said, ‘then I wash my hands of the whole business. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. " "There are bad stories, then, just as there are bad people?" "Yes. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery.
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