Wood fared still worse. Like carpenter, like chips. "Joan! Joan!" vociferated he, "open the door, for God's sake, or I shall be murdered, and so will your babby! Open the door quickly, I say. It disgusts me that you should touch me. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. Anna was married.
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