A few phrases of
tenderness, and his love-vocabulary was exhausted; he even grew
weary when something more--the indefinite something--was vaguely
required of him.
'You are a dear, good, tender-hearted girl,' he said, stroking
her short, soft hair, which was exquisite to the hand. 'Now go
and get ready.'
She left him, but stood for a few moments on the landing before
going to the girls' room.
CHAPTER XXIX. CATASTROPHE
Marian had finished the rough draft of a paper on James
Harrington, author of 'Oceana.' Her father went through it by the
midnight lamp, and the next morning made his comments. A black
sky and sooty rain strengthened his inclination to sit by the
study fire and talk at large in a tone of flattering benignity.
'Those paragraphs on the Rota Club strike me as singularly
happy,' he
said, tapping the manuscript with the mouthpiece of his pipe.
'Perhaps you might say a word or two more about Cyriac Skinner;
one mustn't be too allusive with general readers, their ignorance
is incredible. But there is so little to add to this paper--so
little to alter--that I couldn't feel justified in sending it as
my own work.
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