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She made me over. At length, at the end of a passage, next to the cell where Mrs. He had reacted by laughing at her, informing her coolly that she was naïve in many things. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. “How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime. “Surely!” he remarked, with an expression of worried appeal.
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