‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants. But, when the sound of the carriage-wheels died away, and he felt that she was actually gone, his resolution failed him, and he rang the bell violently. I consider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. It’s a beautiful plant, but a tender one. .
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