\" She whirled around by instinct, frightening the boy who she had borrowed the pencil from. We had such a pride in you, such hope in you. Brown. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. And yet the moment I am safely out of the way you are content to dress yourself in my rags, to go and get yourself popular and admired and successful, all on my reputation. ’ That arrested her.
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