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. He lit a cigarette and loitered about. ‘Did you see the man?’ Gerald asked. "Wasn't he in some way connected with the Jacobite plots?" "He was," replied Thames. “By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. McClintock stared into the bowl of his pipe and Spurlock into his coffee cup. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality. She struggled fiercely not to give way.
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