Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. . 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. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything. Hopefully. “What did it matter?” she cried. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table.
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