The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. She had found a couple of articles about him over the years, blurbs about the opening of a theater that mentioned him. A thousand eager assistants pressed behind him. " "There was Father," suggested Angelina gently. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. Everything seemed designed to unhinge the mind and make the cat wretched.
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