‘Stand where you are, or I shoot!’
Like lightning, thoughts zipped through her mind. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with
some man?”
“What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad
as to go off alone?”
“After—after what had happened the night before?”
“Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face
as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the
very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and
there, sure enough, was yours. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. Part 7
That was two days before Christmas Eve. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the
ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent
inhabitants of London. “Take her limbs again. He was always one step ahead of the curve, and
he had found the right girls would always rat on a
ringleader when their own academic records or passage to
top rated colleges were at stake. He then made a sort of running noose, passed it over her body, and
taking firmly hold of the bars, prepared to guide her descent.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 05-07-2024 21:52:28