The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. Sir John felt hot and furious. "Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. Sheppard. Why didn’t he die?” Anna sprang to her feet and walked restlessly up and down the room. One night, she drew close to him in bed, trying to warm herself by embracing his back.
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