"I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. He did not care whether the stories were accepted or not. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. “Oh! He’s wonderful! Isobella, you are truly blessed!” She said as she held the baby. In the next place, she really had some pretensions to beauty. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor.
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