She delighted in frustrating him. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. If they hadn't sent for me, you'd have pegged out before morning. It was in her eyes—the big thing that comes but once. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. ” She was in the bedroom by eleven.
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