‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. “Read this, John. I thank God for the very skin that is peeling from your nose, for all things great and small that make us what we are. He flew to the window, and would have passed his sword through the thief-taker's body, if the latter had not quickly interposed the person of Mrs. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments.
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