At the gate opening upon the road leading to Dollis Hill were stationed William Morgan and John Dump. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting.
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