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 ’cause you shot Mr. Bates, I guess, but mostly on account of you not amountin’ to anythin’ and not havin’ any fam’ly or blood or ancestors, like my grandpa and grandma’s got—and my ancestors was a general and my great uncle was a ambassador….” She paused and considered the matter. “Mos’ likely if your pa had been a governor or somebody like that, why, your bein’ put in jail wouldn’t have been so bad…. But like things are and all, why, little girls like me can’t have nothin’ to do with you and mustn’t play with you.” She walked daintily away, but before she passed out of sight she turned and fired her parting shot. “Anyhow, and it don’t matter how shif’less you are, you don’t need to let nobody pick on you…. You can stand up for yourself like my grandma says everybody’s got a right to….” She shook her finger at him emphatically. “You just got to stand up for yourself.”

Angus did not move from his position after she was gone, but stood staring fixedly at his feet, forgetful of Bishwhang, remembering only Lydia Canfield’s words—words which had set to expanding some unused spring in his mental mechanism. They affected him deeply, compellingly, though he grasped them at first only dimly. He conned the words over and over, and each time some intuition informed him that she