"If that sickly brat lives to be a man," continued Jonathan, rising, "I'll hang him upon the same tree as his father. I’ve called half a dozen times at her flat, and she won’t see me. They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. And then presently these clouds began to wear thin and expose steep, deep slopes, going down and down, with grass and pine-trees, down and down, and at last, through a great rent in the clouds, bare roofs, shining like very minute pin-heads, and a road like a fibre of white silk-Macugnana, in Italy. But stand by and hear such things said about my late mistress’s daughter, I won’t. So here I am, king of all I survey, with a predilection for poker, a scorched liver, and a piano-player. Not MY affair. Sir John hesitated. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror.
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