ght in the pride of her heart, as she Belstaff Snaefell Kurtki crept behind the tub; but presently she began to cry again at the idea that they didn’t mind her FC Flamengo Dresy being there. If she went down again to Tom now — would he forgive her? Perhaps her father would be there, and he would take her part. But then she wanted Tom to forgive her because he loved her, not because his father told him. No, she would never go down if Tom didn’t Brent Burns Tröjor come to fetch her. This resolution lasted in great intensity for five dark minutes behind the tub; but then the need of being loved — the strongest need in poor Maggie’s nature — began to wrestle with her pride, and soon threw it. She crept from behind her tub into the twilight of the long attic, but just then she Walt Tkaczuk Tröja heard a quick foot-step on the stairs.
Tom had been too much interested in his talk with Luke, in going the round of the premises, walking in and out where he pleased, and whittling sticks without any particular reason — except that he didn’t whittle sticks at school — to think of Maggie and the effect his anger had produced on her. He meant to punish her, and Německo Dres Dámské that business having been performed, he occupied himself with other matters, like a practical person. But when he had Belgie Dres Děti been called in to tea, his father said, “Why, where’s the little wench?” and Mrs. Tulliver, almost at the same moment, said, “Where’s your little sister?”— both of them having supposed that Maggie and Lias Andersson Tröjor Tom had been together all the afternoon.
“I don’t know,” said Tom. He didn’t want to “tell” of Maggie, though he was angry with her; for Tom Tulliver was a lad of honor.
“What! hasn’t she been playing with you all this while?” said the father. “She’d been thinking o’ nothing but your coming home.”
“I haven’t seen her this two hours,” says Tom, commencing on the plumcake.
“Goodness heart; she’s got drownded!” exclaimed Mrs. Tulliver, rising from her seat and running to the window.
“How could you let her do so?” she added, as became a fearful woman, accusing she didn’t know whom of she didn’t know what.
“Nay, nay, she’s none drownded,” said Mr. Tulliver. “You’ve been naughty to her, I doubt, Tom?”
“I’m sure I haven’t, father,” said Tom, indignantly. “I think she’s in the house.”
“Perhaps up in that attic,” said Mrs. Tulliver, “a-singing and talking to herself, and forgetting Maillot Kanté all about meal-times.”
“You go and fetch her down, Tom,” said Mr. Tulliver, rather sharply — his perspicacity or his fatherly fondness for Maggie making him suspect Belstaff Nowy Toxic Blouson Kurtki that the lad had been Benfica Lisbonne hard upon “the little un,” else she would never have left his side. “And be Atletico Penarol good to her, do you hear? Else I’ll let you know better.”
Tom never disobeyed his father, for Mr. Tulliver was a peremptory man, and, as he said, would never let anybody get hold of Mike Reilly Tröja his whip-hand; but he went out rather sullenly, carrying his piece of plumcake, and not intending to reprieve Maggie’s punishment, which was no more than she deserved. Tom waslinks:
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