His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. "Well, my pretty dears," he added, "—to see your husband, eh? You must make the most of your time. Ah! she looks this way, and puts her finger to her lips. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. The work of plunder over, that of destruction commenced. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet.
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