CHAPTER XXVII. "But what does he mean by calling you a wanton? —you, my wife?" Enschede's hand slipped from his daughter's shoulder. From this night I shall pursue a different course; from this night his ruin may be dated. A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. ‘You seem to understand the gentry very well. Prudence attacked her chicken wing. You tonic my liver and you tonic my soul.
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