Her father had smiles ready for her, he seemed to be truly happy with her for the first time since her infancy. “I imagine,” Sir John said, “that your sister would acquaint him with it. It is that, is it not?” “No,” he answered readily. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted. He was unaware that his illness had opened the way to the inherent conscience and that the acquired had been temporarily blanketed, or that there was any ancient fanaticalism in his blood.
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