’ The woman shrugged helpless shoulders, looking to her husband. "I've said it," rejoined Jonathan, peremptorily. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. “I think we’ve exhausted this discussion,” she said. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark.
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