The tables were then cleared. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. The streets were full of colour. If only to say goodbye. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. "Well, my pretty dears," he added, "—to see your husband, eh? You must make the most of your time. ‘You talk together of me as if I am not there. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it.
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