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T. Tembarom by Frances Hodgson Burnett
page 30 of 693 (04%)
affectionate as well as admiring, despite him.

"The way you get on to a thing just in three words!" he said. "Daniel
Webster ain't in it."

"I dare say if you let the people in the shops know that you come
from a newspaper, it'll be a help," she went on with ingenuous
worldly wisdom. "They'll think it'll be a kind of advertisement. And
so it will. You get some neat cards printed with your name and Sunday
Earth on them."

"Gee!" Tembarom ejaculated, slapping his knee, "there's another! You
think of every darned thing, don't you?"

She stopped a moment to look at him.

"You'd have thought of it all yourself after a bit," she said. She
was not of those unseemly women whose intention it is manifestly to
instruct the superior man. She had been born in a small Manchester
street and trained by her mother, whose own training had evolved
through affectionately discreet conjugal management of Mr. Hutchinson.

"Never you let a man feel set down when you want him to see a thing
reasonable, Ann," she had said. "You never get on with them if you do.
They can't stand it. The Almighty seemed to make 'em that way.
They've always been masters, and it don't hurt any woman to let 'em
be, if she can help 'em to think reasonable. Just you make a man feel
comfortable in his mind and push him the reasonable way. But never
you shove him, Ann. If you do, he'll just get all upset-like. Me and
your father have been right-down happy together, but we never should
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