He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. " Prudence felt the hands stiffen oddly; and again the thought came to her that perhaps this poor child's father had once been, perhaps still was, in the same category as this Taber. Oh, you must believe me. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal— and they’re no good. In a sense I don’t care. Lucy’s bright tones pursued her.
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