Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. She answered weakly, “I’m fine, John. "What's that?" demanded McClintock. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. One trouble, however, shot its slanting bolts athwart the shining warmth of that opening day and marred its perfection, and that was the thought of her father.
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