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'What!' cried Dick, 'go in months after, and brag that I had
meant to thrash the man, and then didn't. And why? Because
my father had made a bigger ass of himself than I supposed.
My dear, that's nonsense.'
She winced at his words and drew away. 'But when that is all
he asks,' she pleaded. 'If he only knew that you had felt
that impulse, it would make him so proud and happy. He would
see you were his own son after all, and had the same thoughts
and the same chivalry of spirit. And then you did yourself
injustice when you spoke just now. It was because the editor
was weak and poor and excused himself, that you repented your
first determination. Had he been a big red man, with
whiskers, you would have beaten him - you know you would - if
Mr. Naseby had been ten times more committed. Do you think,
if you can tell it to me, and I understand at once, that it
would be more difficult to tell it to your own father, or
that he would not be more ready to sympathise with you than I
am? And I love you, Dick; but then he is your father.'
'My dear,' said Dick, desperately, 'you do not understand;
you do not know what it is to be treated with daily want of
comprehension and daily small injustices, through childhood
and boyhood and manhood, until you despair of a hearing,
until the thing rides you like a nightmare, until you almost
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