Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. "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. ‘You are too shrewd for me, ma’am. He has told me sufficient of you—" "My dear," interposed Wood, "for goodness' sake—" "I will speak," screamed his wife, totally disregarding the interruption; "I will tell this worthless creature what I know about her,—and what I think of her. Inhuman as he is, he would not kill her. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. Anna did not pause, but she looked over her shoulder with slightly lifted eyebrows. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. Further on, there was a small chandler's shop, where Jack observed an old woman seated at the counter, attended by a little girl. Wood had been my father, as well as yours.
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