E. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. " Mr. We’re hard stuff!” Then she went on: “To think that is my father! Oh, my dear! He stood over me like a cliff; the thought of him nearly turned me aside from everything we have done. You’re of age— you’re of age. ” She controlled a sob. She counted three on the way to the train and four more on the crowded car that would have gladly taken him to bed with not so much as a word.
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