A thin line of red appeared in the white neck. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. Meantime, every preparation had been made outside for his departure. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil.
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