But somehow he could not bring any of these affairs to an orderly end. It is you who took my name, not I yours. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. It was fortunate that by this time Winifred had so far recovered, as to be able to afford her father the best and only solace that, under the circumstances, he could have received,—her personal attentions. . . I kicked the living shit out of him.
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