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I cried, and I patted applause, as she deserved. "And you had better make over your stocks to me at once," I continued. "I cannot without your Uncle Bratley's permission. He is my trustee. Go to him, my dear son." I went to him very unwillingly. My father and I had always as much as possible ignored the Bratley connection.
I officiated as assistant to the cook on the homeward voyage. At the urgent solicitation of my mother, I condescended, on my return, to accept a situation in my Uncle Bratley's cracker-bakery. The business is not aristocratic. But what business is?
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