. " "Entreat a fiddlestick!" retorted Mrs. . I hated him. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel. What is it? Good God!” An unhappy little smile parted her lips. All at once she realised that Kimble had halted, leaning heavily against the wall. "I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. “So long as I am your father, so long as your life is entrusted to my care, I feel bound by every obligation to use my authority to check this odd disposition of yours toward extravagant enterprises. Ah, no, I have it wrong. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. “Never mind. “Well?” “I don’t care a rap for all these things.
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