Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. Each time a daughter had been born to him he had concealed his chagrin with great tenderness and effusion from his wife, and had sworn unwontedly and with passionate sincerity in the bathroom. Was she a fool to wish a person of a disposition altogether not pleasing to marry her? Was it not true that he made a game with her very often? Had he not been extremely interfering from the beginning? And had he not kissed her, just when— Her thoughts skidded to a stop. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image.
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