His face was wreathed in smiles, his beringed hand was cordially outstretched. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. ‘Very well, never mind. This time, there was no doubt, she did not sleep. She had but to choose. There are sentimental and traditional deferences and reverences, I know, between father and son; but that’s just exactly what prevents the development of an easy friendship. Gosse cursed him finely, of course, but there was nothing he could do.
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