The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. Indeed it was apparent, from the likeness between them, that they were nearly related. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. ‘Your niece, ma’am. "When it thunders, the thief becomes honest," muttered Wood.
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