His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit. “You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged. But this revulsion was engulfed by the succeeding waves of pity and understanding. ‘What’s wrong, miss? Ain’t I done right?’ Melusine’s mind was reeling, but she reached out and seized his wrist. "Stir a foot, at your peril. Brendon.
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