"What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily. ” “You do not deny that you are my wife,” he asked hoarsely. “But your hair,” he gasped. There you are, the best client’s chair. He was ruffled, and his ears were red, no doubt from some adjacent controversy. She would rend him limb from limb like a fiend if only she could move. Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica.
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