“I don’t see, Mollie,” he remarked, taking a cigar from the box on the table as his sister and daughter rose, “why you and Vee shouldn’t discuss this little affair —whatever it is—without bothering me. But not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. S. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park.
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