But not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. She looked at him mournfully. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. F. The stipendiary would have done it all very differently.
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