It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. The latch had not fully caught. “I will not rob you of your coffee, most dutiful of sisters!” she exclaimed. . You must keep out of the way till it's blown over. Father— dead. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour.
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