But all this business has driven it clean out of my head. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. “Suppose I chuck it,” she remarked, standing with the mauve slip in her hand —“suppose I chuck it, and surrender and go home! Perhaps, after all, Roddy was right! “Father keeps opening the door and shutting it, but a time will come— “I could still go home!” She held Ramage’s check as if to tear it across. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. I meant mischief.
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