Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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