They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; A man scores always, everywhere. “Poor old Alice!” Her brother Roddy came to her and demanded tea, and asked her to state a case. He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity. ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father. Everybody breathed a collective sigh of relief in the neighborhood, no one wanted to see how those kids would grow up.
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