’ He held his hands out of the way, surrendering his chest for her assault. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman.
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