" CHAPTER XIV. Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. Plays Beethoven, Rubenstein and all those chaps. Its cavernous expanses equaled the upstairs of the house. " Prudence shrugged. Every one turned to her in astonishment. " "I'm sorry I can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. You'll never be guided by me—never!" "Indeed, my love, you're entirely mistaken," returned the carpenter, endeavouring to deprecate his wife's rising resentment by the softest looks, and the meekest deportment.
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