The air was thick with feelings. . Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. But no more of that. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired. He thrust into her slowly at first, astonished at the natural amount of resistance and unexpected friction which nearly drove him to come instantaneously. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke.
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