Pragmar probably knew Mr. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. “How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. “Look here, father,” she said, with a change in her voice, “suppose I won’t stand it?” He regarded her as though this was a new idea. And I'll answer for it, she'll never say a syllable to annoy you again.
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