But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. “She’s been up to no good, Sheila. The world into which she was so boldly venturing was going to be wonderful, but never so wonderful as the world within these paper covers. "Do not shed more blood," cried the carpenter. After a while one began to talk. Everything was blurred. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture.
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