They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. " "Impossible," replied Sheppard, in the same tone. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger.
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