"Constance—or, rather, Mrs. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. Spurling," rejoined Ireton; "we can taste the rum when he returns. She was quite unconcerned. As for himself, there had never been a touch of it. ‘But I don’t trust you an inch.
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