"My mother is avenged. She would just walk out of the house and go. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. Hill was exchanging greetings with his hostess, and salutations around the table. Nothing shall induce me to act contrary to the dictates of my conscience. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages.
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