“I think,” began Ann Veronica, “that you don’t realize—” He disregarded her entirely. 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. That was supposed to be Madame Valade.
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