’ ‘Well, let us leave your name for the present. “Some day,” she answered. As to his mother, I've no pity for her. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. . She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. The imbecile. The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland.
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