She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. “It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. “Just think about what you are asking, John, please. Bullding repeated, rather struck with the phrase. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand.
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