' Why," said Ruth, "you did not read that to us. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. "I am twenty," said the girl. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. There are sentimental and traditional deferences and reverences, I know, between father and son; but that’s just exactly what prevents the development of an easy friendship.
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