She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. Me, I prefer to forget that I have such a father. When she slipped off of it her head started to bob, filled with air. She was weeping now. He jumped back, cursing. He flung aside all his talk of help and disinterested friendship as though it had never been even a disguise between them, as though from the first it was no more than a fancy dress they had put quite understandingly upon their relationship. The world is known to you. I don't want her hurt.
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