“Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. She would not sleep for fear of losing a moment of that sense of his proximity. The boiling under her stern, however, told him nothing. She felt very awkward as she stared at 103 the top of his ashen hair.
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