Stanley was throughout enigmatical, with an anxious eye on her husband and Alice. Such pretty manners, she thought. While you live in my house you must follow my ideas. I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair.
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