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Book, page 121 / 161 "You thought it a love of a house, you remember, before we came into it." "Me? Me? Mr. Plunket? Why, I never liked it; and it was all your fault that we ever moved here." "My fault?" "Yes, indeed, it was all your fault. I wanted the house in Walnut street, but you were afraid of a little more rent. Oh, no, Mr. Plunket, you mustn't blame me for moving into this barracks of a place; you have only yourself to thank for that; and now I want to get out of it on the first good opportunity." Poor Mr. Plunket was silenced. The very boldness of the position taken by his wife completely knocked him _hors du combat_. His fault, indeed! He would have lived on, year after year, in a log cabin, rather than encounter the horrors of moving; and yet he was in the habit of moving about once a year. What could he do now? He had yielded so long to his wife, who had grown bolder at each concession, that opposition was now hopeless. Had she stood alone, there might have been some chance for him; but backed up, as she was, by her puissant mother, victory was sure to perch on her banner; and well did Mr. Plunket know this. "It will cost at least a hundred and fifty or two hundred dollars to move," he ventured to suggest. "Indeed, and it will cost no such thing. I'll guaranty the whole removal for ten dollars." "It cost over a hundred last year." "Nonsense! it didn't cost a fifth of it." But Mr. Plunket knew he had the best right to know, for he had paid the bills. From the first, Mr. Plunket felt that opposition was useless. A
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