Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. It gave her joy to see them laughing, even though she was unsure of what she had done wrong. "What's the use of wasting a shot?" rejoined Jonathan, savagely. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to.
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