She had come to despise those who were fertile out of pure jealousy, but could not admit it to herself. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. Spare him!—pity me!" With this she arose, and, taking up the infant, was about to proceed down stairs, when she was alarmed by hearing the street-door opened, and the sound of heavy footsteps entering the house.
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