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Turner, Ethel Sybil, 1872-1958

"Seven Little Australians"

Was she always to be a disturber
of his peace? Was she always to thwart him like this?
"Judy," he said in a loud voice.
The closed eyelids sprang open, the mist of sleep and forgetfulness
cleared from the dark eyes, and she sprang up, a look of absolute
horror on her face.
"What are you doing here, may I ask?" he said, very coldly.
The scarlet colour flooded her cheeks, her very brow, and then
dropped down again, leaving her white to the lips, but she made no
answer.
"You have run away from school, I suppose?" he continued, in the
same unemotional voice. "Have you anything to say?"
Judy did not speak or move, she only watched his face with parted
lips.
"Have you anything to say for yourself, Helen?" he repeated.
"No, Father," she said.
Her face had a worn, strained look that might have touched him
at another time, but he was too angry to notice.
"No excuse or reason at all?"
"No, Father."
He moved toward the opening. "A train goes in an hour and a half, you
will come straight back with me this moment," he said, in an even
voice. "I shall take precautions to have you watched at school since
you cannot be trusted. You will not return home for the Christmas
holidays, and probably not for those of the following June.


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