"I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. Do you accept it?" "Dear Thames!" "Forgive this ill-timed avowal of my love. From the sounds of it, he was better off dead. But the wench who tricked me shall bitterly repent it. Wood fared still worse. ‘Sir?’ Hilary threw a brief glance at Trodger, and quickly returned his intent gaze to the Frenchman, who had halted once more, and stood as if thinking deeply.
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