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Chapter VIII

           I’lljustbedrinkingbowlsoficythingsallmewayhomeinthethoughtsofit.”

           DowncametheAngel’sfoot.Hereyesflashedindignantly.“There’snosenseinthat,”shesaid.“HowdoyouthinkyouwouldhavefeltwhenyouknewIwaswarmandthirstyandyouwentandbroughtmeadrinkandIwouldn’ttakeitbecause—becausegoodnessknowswhy!Youcanridefastertomakeupforthetime.I’vejustthoughtoutwhatIwanttofixforyou.”

           Shesteppedtohissideanddeliberatelyslippedherhandunderhisarm—thatrightarmthatendedinanemptysleeve.

           “Youarecoming,”shesaidfirmly.“Iwon’thaveit.”

           Frecklescouldnothavetoldhowhefelt,neithercouldanyoneelse.Hisbloodriotedandhisheadswam,buthekepthiswits.Hebentoverher.

           “Pleasedon’t,Angel,”hesaidsoftly.“Youdon’tunderstand.”

           HowFrecklescametounderstandwasaproblem.

           “It’sthis,”hepersisted.“Ifyourfathermetmeonthestreet,inmystationanddress,withyouonmearm,he’dhaveeveryrighttobecaningmebeforethepeople,andnotafingerwouldIlifttostayhim.”

           TheAngel’seyessnapped.“Ifyouthinkmyfathercaresaboutmydoinganythingthatisrightandkind,andthatmakesmehappytodo—why,thenyoucompletelyfailedinreadingmyfather,andI’llaskhimandjustshowyou.”

           ShedroppedFreckles’armandturnedtowardtheentrancetothebuilding.“Why,lookthere!”sheexclaimed.

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