"But she is a dear," said Angelina, timidly. He recognised this object at once. Immediately he was gone, she regretted that she had not followed. She was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. There were no evidences of any struggle, no overturned chairs or disarranged furniture. But indeed that is not at all a good description of her attitude.
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