One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. \" He said with a question in his voice, a question that revealed that he was intimidated, and not only that, but he had it bad. "He's a base, deceitful, tyrannical, hoary-headed libertine—that's what he is. It was locked. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. "Your hesitation convinces me he does," replied the widow.
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