Brown engaged in the usual browbeating and complaining he reserved for sections who came in late and soloists who left tempo behind like the leftovers of a Sunday picnic. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. She did not know herself. She then dried her eyes, and laying her child gently upon the floor, knelt down beside him. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. You will find proofs of the bloody deed in his room. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house.
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