CHAPTER XI. Wild's dwelling without apprehension, or quitted it without satisfaction. "Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. You can’t possibly understand!” He began a confused explanation, a perplexing contradictory apology for his urgency and wrath.
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