It seemed to her that her father was in some inexplicable way meaner-looking than she had supposed, and yet also, as unaccountably, appealing. ‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. He will not help them—and I told Emile so—and thus he sends them to my other grandpére, even that he knows he is dead. Even as she watched, the sweat of weakness began to form on his forehead and under the nether lip.
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