"Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. The new and the old cancelled out; his daughters became quasi-independent dependents—which is absurd. He had never wanted daughters. They should never come into contact with politics or economics—or any of those things. He looked at her with a certain curiosity.
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