” She leaned against the back wall of the place, sinking slowly. “Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother. I am your husband, though as yet your hand has scarcely lain in mine. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. Every one took him for the millionaire, and he had lost his head about me. She had come to despise those who were fertile out of pure jealousy, but could not admit it to herself.
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