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. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. There were shadows under his eyes. The house was eerily silent, which alerted her to the idea that someone might be listening. Anyhow, she’s disappeared for some reason or other. Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily. "Oh, easily enough," rejoined the other.
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