It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued.
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