"You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. Babies and females have got to keep hold of somebody or go under—anyhow, for the next few generations. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features.
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