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Cassie. Twenty times I’d told him the catch of the front-door lock wouldn’t work, and he was too mean to have the locksmith in to fix it. And him the richest man in Cayuga... That wasn’t your fault was it?

Kate. (sobbing.) No... no...

Cassie. Well, don’t act as if it was, then. You know when he was asleep a foghorn wouldn’t have woke him up.

The Unpublished Writings of Edith Wharton. Volume 1. Plays, Kate Spain


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