"What!" she exclaimed, almost choked with passion,—"I advised you to burthen yourself with that idle and good-for-nothing pauper, who'm you ought rather to send to the workhouse than maintain at your own expense, did I! I advised you to take him as an apprentice; and, so far from getting the regular fee with him, to give him a salary? I advised you to feed him, and clothe him, and treat him like his betters; to put up with his insolence, and wink at his faults? I counselled all this, I suppose. Already she knew that she was overstaying her welcome. They are mine! They were sent to ‘Alcide’ not to you. "Hush!" she said, putting her lean fingers to her lips. Martin managed to catch her after class the next day. Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. The books would be soaked and ruined in the rain anyway through the thin skin of the pack. The truth was impossible, indecent. Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong. You are more in my power than I am in yours.
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