She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. As I understand it, Remenham House devolves upon Melusine, in default of her mother, the actual heir. Worse than any man.
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