He had never wanted daughters. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. Coat, on the present occasion, he had none, it being more convenient, as well as agreeable to him, to pursue his avocations in his shirtsleeves; but, when fully equipped, he wore a large-cuffed, long-skirted garment, which had once been the property of his master. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully. “The white unaggressive woman who corrects and nurses and serves, and is worshipped and betrayed—the martyr-queen of men, the white mother. . “Too bad to keep you waiting,” Annabel exclaimed. "I mean to have no one but yourself in it.
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