" "That's my own concern," rejoined Sheppard. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. The Becks were the best foster family that she had ever had. Accordingly, the old knight reduced his son's allowance to a third of its previous amount; and, upon further provocation, he even went so far as to alter his will in favour of his daughter, Aliva, who was then betrothed to her cousin, Sir Cecil Trafford. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. “I don’t think you see,” she replied, with tears on her cheeks, and her brows knitting, “how it shames and, ah!—disgraces me—AH TISHU!” She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table. “My father’s sisters used once to live in the old manor house. Besides, by the time they were off his hands, old McClintock would be dropping in to have his liver renovated. The visitor was the hotel manager, who respectfully announced that the doctor was ready for her. No, don’t let me call myself that. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean. Gives you a right to hang on to the old man until he busts—practically.
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