She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. Was there ever such madness?” “I am afraid that I don’t understand,” Ennison answered. Without realizing what she has done, she's made a dreadful mess of it. "I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—No, not quite that," he added, a little confused. She repeated this breathlessly. She cried as he watched, frozen to the ground. Sometimes she missed her cue and nodded affirmatively when the gesture should have been the reverse; and Prudence would send her a sharp glance of disapproval.
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