"If that sickly brat lives to be a man," continued Jonathan, rising, "I'll hang him upon the same tree as his father. “Don’t they look like a pair of young lovers sleeping off a tryst?” He observed. “I looked for you on the way home from The Big Apple, where were you?” Lucy smiled. He went more easily this time. ‘But I will tell you this, mon vieux. ’ ‘Don’t be too sure,’ said Miss Froxfield darkly, with a mischievous glance at her betrothed. 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.
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