"What the devil are you howling about?" cried Langley. Some man! And to conclude it all was the figure of her father in the doorway, giving her a last chance, his hat in one hand, his umbrella in the other, shaken at her to emphasize his point. At this juncture, a cry burst from the child, who, nearly smothered by the weight imposed upon him, only recovered the use of his lungs as Wood altered the position of the bundle. “I know nothing whatever of his friends or his home. "Of course," responded the widow, heaving a deep sigh.
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