Thunder rumbled behind the manicured hills. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. "Jack," exclaimed the widow, starting up and drawing back the curtain. It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence. It was impossible. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger. "Well, Sir?" gasped Sir Rowland. Moving room to room it was. Wood was scarcely seated before Mr. She wrote it down.
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