And I'll have supper with you. As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. I swore to hang you two years ago, but I deferred my purpose. There’s no logic in these things. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission.
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