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. Then, as he was trying to bite through the rope, I told him, ‘That’s for 107 Traci, motherfucker. Such ambitions as he had were stereotyped and material. They were properly brought up, and sat still and straight, and took the luck fate brought them as gentlewomen should.
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