You can scribble if you want to, but after you've given your eight hours daily to the mills. ” “Point taken. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. “Let me help you,” he begged. You must live for me. Indeed it was apparent, from the likeness between them, that they were nearly related. But at last this ordeal was over, and Ramage opened the door.
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