My wife—killed me. She counted three on the way to the train and four more on the crowded car that would have gladly taken him to bed with not so much as a word. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. The two young fools laughed until they cried. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father.
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