"Hoddy, Hoddy!… No, no! This is my father!" warned Ruth. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. One always dreamed of this and never believed it. “How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. “Women have been and are treated as the inferiors of men, we want to make them their equals. A father is in debt, we'll say. Won't you, Jack?" "That I will," answered Sheppard, eagerly. ‘Don’t even think of it,’ warned Gerald, in the voice generally reserved for his men. He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity.
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