He said nothing. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. To many in that crowded solitude it came as an extraordinary relief. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. No further responsibility whatever. Bah! She does not know me very well, and you—not at all.
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