“Because I hate you!” She spat. Late in July he finished the fourth story. She almost sprang to her feet. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. “It isn’t objections exactly.
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