He stepped quickly towards her. ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father. After that consolations fled. John, I shall eat that whole tin of sardines. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. She dismissed the whole subject with a little shrug of the shoulders. I ought to have gone long ago. He could lose himself for hours at a time. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less.
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