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The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. “I don’t see, Mollie,” he remarked, taking a cigar from the box on the table as his sister and daughter rose, “why you and Vee shouldn’t discuss this little affair —whatever it is—without bothering me. The whole neighbourhood was disturbed. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas.

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