And this clear-visioned child had comprehended that only half the rogues were really ill. The bedding was removed; Mrs. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration.
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