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"Do you not know me, father?" said the young man, advancing towards him, and warmly grasping his hand. ” “I thought I explained—” “I don’t think you can have heard me,” said her father; “I have told you to come home. " "I see through your design, Jack," returned the carpenter, gravely; "but I don't like under-hand work. A dissipated, loose-living man. Happy Thanksgiving. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. Or appeared to do so. She let her mind run into dreams of that cloud paradise of an altered world in which the Goopes and Minivers, the Fabians and reforming people believed. "Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause.
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