Suppose he stopped all her allowance, made it imperative that she should either stay ineffectually resentful at home or earn a living for herself at once. You will agree with me when you have heard what I have to say. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. Forgive me?” She pleaded. A shout was heard at a little distance, and, the next moment, a person rushed with breathless haste to the stair-head. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. In a few minutes, an appalling change was perceptible.
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