Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Day by day she followed the spiritual and physical contest between this man and woman. He put it carefully aside, resolved to defer the attempt till night. "Now, let's see who'll dare to take him down," she cried. Maggot. But she certainly remembered that when she was a little girl he sometimes wore tennis flannels, and also rode a bicycle very dexterously in through the gates to the front door. But between us, we'll have him writing books some day. They WERE weird. ‘I don’t propose doing anything with you.
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