Her father intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands upon the latch. The man’s hand flashed out, but immediately afterwards an oath and a cry of pain broke from his lips. “Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it. She laughed nervously, but kept her eyes averted. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. She gained her room, and slammed her door and locked it as though she feared violence and pursuit. I don’t want to hear you. Accounted extremely pretty in her youth, her features and person expanded as she grew older, without much detriment to their original comeliness.
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