You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. They were wed in Florence, in the grandest cathedral she had ever seen, the Santa Maria del Fiore. “Oh, Lord!” she said, discovering what she was up to, and dropped lightly from the fence upon the turf and went on her way toward the crest. He thought for a moment, and went on: “Love is something that has to be taken care of. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. Wood, reproachfully, as they returned to the parlour.
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