‘I know, Melusine. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. And, if I'd my own way, I'd drown 'em all like a litter o' puppies. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. It had seemed to her that life might be very good indeed with his kindliness and sacrifice about her. A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father.
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