. ’ She shuddered, throwing her hands over her face. He strangled the infant, which slipped out of his hands and screamed. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it. After a certain amount of manœuvring, however, he was induced to crawl around, and in a few minutes came to stop again before a tall brightly-painted house, which seemed like an oasis of colour and assertive prosperity in a long dingy row. "My father!" she whispered. “It was unpleasant while it lasted, but it is over —and my toasted scones are delicious. They are arbitrary and unjust and dogmatic and brutish and lustful. This key," he added, taking it from the boy, "was purloined from me by your father, Jack.
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