Then, her body still tense with the atoms of anger, she sat down upon the edge of the bed and rocked from side to side. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. ’ The fury welled. ‘I only wish I might have won her confidence. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct.
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