“Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. Maggot, laughing. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. \"Let's get out of here.
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