She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. And as she was yet waiting for her tea to come she saw this man again. “And if she can’t have the right one? “We’ve developed such a quality of preference!” She rubbed her knuckles into her forehead. \"Hardwood floors. Montressor’s guests. ’ Then I kicked him until he was black and blue. .
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