The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black mustache. She controlled herself, and answered meekly, “No. We’re hard stuff!” Then she went on: “To think that is my father! Oh, my dear! He stood over me like a cliff; the thought of him nearly turned me aside from everything we have done. Her prevailing effect was one of quiet and complete assurance, as though she knew all about everything, and was only restrained by her instinctive delicacy from telling what she knew.
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