“I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. When mistress took and died—’ Joan broke off and sighed, moving away to the window. To think of him as loving her would make all that different. "Iss, Massa. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. “Is your husband here to-night?” he asked.
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