We shall have Mr. But you! Why the devil did you marry her? That's the thing that confounds me. Remain at the door, Nab," he added, loitering for a moment behind the others, "and let no one in, or out. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo.
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