A father is in debt, we'll say. The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount.
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