And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. “I think,” he said, “that I am right. ” “Tut!” he said, fuming, and put out his hand to the papers in the pink tape. She had money of her own—much more than I have—and there was no need to squabble about that. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards.
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