“Look here, father,” she said, with a change in her voice, “suppose I won’t stand it?” He regarded her as though this was a new idea. His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life. ‘Here you, Pottiswick. I never made any effort to touch them; so by and by they learned to light fearlessly on my arms and shoulders. You never saw him before yesterday.
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