“We always have things out with OUR father, poor dear!” said Hetty. "You mustn't talk any more; the excitement isn't good for you. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. “Bad hemorrhage,” he said. Was he planning on spending more time with her once in the country? The streets choked with beggars and the dying. Like appendicitis.
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