She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. Annabel, tell me that you did not wish me dead. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. “For instance?” She smiled. “Father,” she cried, “I have to live!” He misunderstood her. ‘Who telled you that?’ ‘Do not ask me impertinent questions, but only go you and fetch this daughter here to me. This fracture was the handiwork of Jack Parrot (otherwise called Jack the Grinder), who broke into the palace of the Bishop of Norwich. There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared.
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