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. “You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that. “It isn’t a joke,” she said. Your history, your actions, nay, your very thoughts are better known to me than to your spiritual adviser.
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