Tell Lucy about the time you were nine years old and blew up the house, John. The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. She dismissed the idea of doing so. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely. " "Surely, you haven't stolen it?" "Stolen's an awkward word. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother.
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