It still failed in something. I can assure you, I wouldn’t be single again for worlds. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. “How shall I put the question? What am I? What have I got to do with myself?. She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. Although she had refused to answer his impertinent questions. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit. —Jonathan Wild: August 31st, 1724.
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