” “Well, why not?” Lady Lescelles asked, smiling. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse.
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