His manner, however, was as stern and haughty as ever, and his glances retained their accustomed fire. He squinted and a disgusted look came over him. Without hindrance—present occupation. “He is one of our guests—perhaps I should say boarders here, but he seldom returns before dinner-time. ” He crossed his arms. “But what are you going to do?” asked Hetty. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved.
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