"There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. "You play?" asked McClintock, who was sorting the rolls. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. His head turned sideways towards the noise, his brows scowling. “No, he grabbed my hand. He was followed by a great pile of black organs, hers, her female parts.
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