"May come!—it will come!—it shall come!" cried the carpenter, shaking his hand menacingly at him. She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. “What if you get pregnant?” His worry came to a quick fruition. She was instinctively aware of him as she had been of Julian. I was just like a sort of dummy that does things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled.
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