‘As I have said, it was a quarrel between the vicomte and Monsieur Charvill. The expression pervading the countenance of the one was vulgarity; of the other, that which is rarely found, except in persons of high birth. They were followed by Jonathan, who carried a stout stick under his arm, and planted himself near the stone. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. After much clapping, they started. ‘What’s more,’ went on Martha, ‘I knew something Mr Charvill didn’t, or he wouldn’t so readily have left it behind him. “No!” he said aloud at last. Supposing they find you and take you away?—and she unprepared? Have you thought of that? Why did you marry her?" "God alone knows!" "And you don't love her! What kind of a woman do you want, anyhow?"—with rising anger. " "Keep it," said Trenchard, haughtily.
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