They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. " "Two can play at that game, my blood," replied Sheppard, rising, and putting himself into a posture of defence. It might be dangerous to thwart him. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. ” “Do you still love him?” “Just the opposite.
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