’ ‘Sir!’ came from Trodger, and the booted feet clattered off and out of the front door. Her confession was still unmade. . . There sprang from that a vague hope that perhaps she might extort a capitulation from her father by a threat to seek that position, and then with overwhelming clearness it came to her that whatever happened she would never be able to tell her father about her debt. Mr. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. All this was the work of a minute. I’ve told you that practically already.
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