She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. “Very well,” said her father. “No,” she said at last; “I’m a human being—not a timid female. Jeremiah Jackson and Mr. If I were to marry you now I should feel a dependent being all my life—a sort of parasitical creature without blood or muscle. "Hoddy, Hoddy!… No, no! This is my father!" warned Ruth.
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