Her mouth lolled open and drool seeped down one corner. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. If I could but——” To escape from her thoughts she began to undress, humming a light tune to herself, though her eyes were hot with unshed tears, and the sobs kept rising in her throat. He tries hard to conceal it, but he cannot. ‘Don’t put me at the necessity of marrying the abominable little wretch. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. “Ding-dong-Diedermayer is here, Lucy.
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