Jackson, gallantly. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. "He hears me not! he's gone!" she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; "something tells me I shall never see him again!" When her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief. "By Heaven!" cried Darrell, "it is the poor fellow whom I placed in such jeopardy a short time ago. Fly! they shall knock me on the head—curse 'em!—before they shall touch you.
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