CHAPTER XXXII. “I HAVE—had one or two talks with him, daddy. She is something different. I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. You can’t possibly understand!” He began a confused explanation, a perplexing contradictory apology for his urgency and wrath. The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come. “What do you think you are doing?” He asked.
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