“Eight, Cavendish Square. 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. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. "I have killed her," cried Jack. "You hear that," cried Mrs. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess.
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