"Iss, Massa. ” In the car, John was wound up. Fas du tout. "Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. So am I. It was the blood she found that cemented her decision that her foster daughter was a criminal. "I'll tell you why," he said.
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