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Benson, E. F. (Edward Frederic), 1867-1940

"Michael"


"He was funny about that also," he said. "My father took it absolutely
for granted that having made this tremendous social advance, you
would bury your past, all but the Tracy part of it, as if it had
been something disgraceful which the exalted Comber family agreed to
overlook."
"And what did you say?"
"I? Oh, I told him that, of course, you would do as you pleased about
that, but that for my part I should urge you most strongly to do nothing
of the kind."
"And he?"
"He got four inches taller. What is so odd is that as long as I never
opposed my father's wishes, as long as I was the clock on the chimney
piece, I was terrified at him. The thought of opposing myself to him
made my knees quake. But the moment I began doing so, I found there was
nothing to be frightened at."
Sylvia got up and began walking up and down the long room.
"But what am I to do about it, Michael?" she asked. "Oh, I blush when
I think of a conversation I had with Hermann about you, just before
Christmas, when I knew you were going to propose to me. I said that I
could never give up my singing. Can you picture the self-importance of
that? Why, it doesn't seem to me to matter two straws whether I do
or not.


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