He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. All make the same answer—'d—n you, keep it. There she would wander about in the kindly darkness. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman.
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