There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. “But, dear, think! He is your father. Where I am in error, you can set me right. The city presented a terrible picture of devastation. ’ ‘Don’t you dare. ” She laughed. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. It grew clear to her that throughout all her wild raid for independence she had done nothing for anybody, and many people had done things for her.
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