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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Golden Scarecrow"


Then he went hurriedly indoors.
On the second occasion she had come down to be shown off at a luncheon
party. She had been praised and petted, and then, in the hall, had run
into her father's arms. He was in his top-hat, going down to his old
city, looking, the nurse thought, "just like a monkey." But Nancy
stayed, holding on to the leg of his trousers. Suddenly he bent down and
whispered:
"Were they nice to you in there?"
"Yes. Why weren't you there?"
"I was. I left. Got to go and work."
"What sort of work?"
"Making money for your clothes."
"Take me too."
"Would you like to come?"
"Yes. Take me."
He bent down and kissed her, but, suddenly hearing the voices of the
luncheon-party, they separated like conspirators. He crept out of the
house.
After that there was no question of their alliance. The sort of
affection that most children feel for old, ugly, and battered dolls,
Nancy now felt for her father, and the warmth of this affection melted
her dried, stubborn little soul, caught her up into visions, wonders,
sympathies that had seemed surely denied to her for ever.


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