But I expect him back every minute. ‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology. ’ He gave the gaping Pottiswick a shove, passing him on to his junior, who was waiting patiently by the kitchen door. The nuns, they were very good with a whip. He came along, he said, just to call, with large, loud apologies, radiantly kind and good. 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. The Night-Cellar XVIII.
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