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“She’s my wife,” the man muttered. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. “Well?” she said, sitting down again. Your second turn is not over, is it?” She laughed a little hardly. " "You are a party concerned. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. She had never before heard the noise of firecrackers, and in the beginning the sputtering racket caused her to wince. The eldest, Constance, was lost, by the carelessness of a servant, during her infancy, and has never since been heard of: the youngest, Aliva, is the present Lady Trafford. Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker.
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