gutenberg. CHAPTER XXVI. She could hardly speak to me; she insisted relentlessly upon a separation. “I didn’t blow up the house. Well, I've had to be. Until that moment, Jarvis had imagined the child to be safe in the wet-nurse’s cottage. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy.
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