Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. “I’d have to be blown up into a thousand pieces. Terrific yells rent the air. ‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. Think, ma’am. And then she could see nothing at all for his lips founds hers. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time.
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