” “I positively insist upon knowing,” she declared cheerfully. There one is! The same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut off from its redeeming and guiding emotional side. His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. His glasses were gone. But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. She is, in her way, a dear.
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