Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired. We were expecting rather to find a male antagonist.
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