ght in the pride of her heart, as she crept behind the tub; but presently she began to cry again at the idea that they didn’t mind her 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 come to fetch her. This resolution lasted in great intensity for five dark minutes behind the tub; but then Manchester City Fotbalové Dres 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 Arsenal Dres Dámské twilight of the long attic, but just then she 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 Valencia Dresy premises, walking in and out where he pleased, and whittling sticks without any Juventus Dres Dámské 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 that business having been performed, he occupied himself with other matters, Maglie Roy Hibbert like a practical person. But when he had 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 Adidas Yeezy Tom had been together all the afternoon.
“I don’t know,” said Tom. He Gobi Parka 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 FC Girondins Dresy 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 Maglie Anthony Davis 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 Maglie Russell Westbrook the house.”
“Perhaps up Galatasary Dresy in that attic,” said Mrs. Tulliver, “a-singing and talking to herself, and forgetting 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 that the lad had been hard upon “the little un,” else she would never have left his side. “And be 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 his whip-hand; but Malmö Dresy 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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