His eyes flashed as he turned towards her. Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at every discussion, her contribution to the great question. ‘My God!’ he said, ‘I’ll go after them and kill him. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. About them quickly.
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