The knife is at my breast. “I do wish you and your father could come to some agreement. I sha'n't cry any more. She dismissed the whole subject with a little shrug of the shoulders. “John, did those roses cost a fortune?” “Like I’m going to tell you!” “Oh, John, they were so pretty, but they must have cost an arm and a leg, and you should be saving for college. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind.
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