Unfair! Undue advantage! He!
Unfair to that girl? Cruel to her!
No scorn could stand against the impression of such charges advanced with
heat and conviction. They shook him. They were yet vibrating in the air
of that stuffy hotel-room, terrific, disturbing, impossible to get rid
of, when the door opened and Flora de Barral entered.
He did not even notice that she was late. He was sitting on a sofa
plunged in gloom. Was it true? Having himself always said exactly what
he meant he imagined that people (unless they were liars, which of course
his brother-in-law could not be) never said more than they meant. The
deep chest voice of little Fyne was still in his ear. "He knows,"
Anthony said to himself. He thought he had better go away and never see
her again. But she stood there before him accusing and appealing. How
could he abandon her? That was out of the question. She had no one. Or
rather she had someone. That father. Anthony was willing to take him at
her valuation. This father may have been the victim of the most
atrocious injustice.
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