Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. Mischief bubbled up in her. ’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers. His thoughts, indeed, were too painful for utterance, and so acute were his feelings, that, for some time, they quite overcame him. Her eyes followed him.
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