"Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November. We’re hard stuff!” Then she went on: “To think that is my father! Oh, my dear! He stood over me like a cliff; the thought of him nearly turned me aside from everything we have done. “Nigel, don’t you understand. The inn was a military haunt. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. ” Michelle relayed the information as if she had been there, though she had not. A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man’s shoulder.
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