““This club's no place for you, tibby," he had told her with gruff fondness. "You has to stay away from a milling cove like me, and find some rum cull to marry." "Papa," she had begged, stammering desperately, "d-don't send me back there. Pl-please, please let me stay with you." "Little tangle-tongue, you belong with the Maybricks. And no use to hop the twig and run back here. I'll only send you off again.””
