‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. The carpenter trembled; for he perceived Rowland's gaze fixed first upon the infant, and then on himself. Some of the lunatics were rattling their chains; some shrieking; some singing; some beating with frantic violence against the doors.
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