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She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. ‘You’ve cause to be grateful to Gerald, then. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye. Spare me yet a little while, Father! not for my own sake, but for the sake of this poor babe. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. “Beats me.

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