A small voice greeted her, hissing. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. David Courtlaw. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. All make the same answer—'d—n you, keep it. . He mumbled an apology and then stopped short.
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