She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy. Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. I told you that at the outset. “But you do not know,” she whispered, “whether I am a married woman or not. ” She shook her head. One can't help being jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. “I am fairly well known here. Try and let him never regret it.
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